


Sweet Melissa

by hippiemama3



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:58:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 91,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippiemama3/pseuds/hippiemama3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sniper turned marshal gets the (OC) girl.  With some Raylan, Rachel and Art thrown in for fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, or anything, to Justified. If I did, Tim would never do anything but lay in bed and be naked. I do own Melissa, she is my creation.**

**This whole thing came out of a Girl's Night In, too much junk food, and Justified. We all talked about Tim deserving someone sweet, decent, and hot, so he could show Raylan how to have an actual relationship. The idea stuck, and I ended up writing my first fanfiction.**

**WARNING: I get mildly graphic with sex.**

**A huge thank you to the friends who have read and edited, and for putting up with me and my Justified obsession. And a bigger thank you to the hubs, my real life Tim, for patiently answering my questions and serving as my technical adviser, while deployed half a world away. War has nothing on true love, I'll see you on the far side of this deployment.**

 

 

She hated going to the Marshal’s office at the court house.  It wasn’t the hustle and bustle of the office, it wasn’t the parade of suspects, some less than savory, some downright scary.  It wasn’t the coffee so bad it awful they had.  It had absolutely nothing to do with how absolutely slow it took nearly every marshal in that office to get reports to her. 

Well, that was part of it.  The slower they were with reports, the more she had to call and pester and annoy, the more irritated she would get, and the sharper the Texan twang would get, until she sounded like a drunk redneck from someplace with less than 10 buildings.  And then, when she was good and mad, worked into a fit over it, she would storm to the courthouse, stomp around in the elevator, provided it was empty, and glower at whichever poor soul owed her a report on an arrest, until it was handed to her.  

Normally, by the time she was virtually red hot with frustration, he would grin at her, hand her whatever report she was after, and offer her, with this adorable yet infuriating grin, candy, chocolate, whatever was sitting on his desk.  A couple times she had found the candy tucked in between the reports she had gotten, if they came from him.   She hated it because she liked it, because she liked the offerings of candy served with some sass, because she liked that hungry look coming from him, it sent electric shocks down her spine. She hated going to the Marshal’s office because of the way he looked at her, studied her, stripped her down to her panties, and then out of them, every time she set foot in the office, and she hated that when he did it, she got all flushed, couldn’t talk, and couldn’t form the words to sass him. 

Every time she flipped open a report, preparing to pull what she needed from it into her own files, and found candy from him tucked inside the report, she would turn the most glorious shades of crimson.  It was common knowledge in the offices of Child and Adult Protective Services, that Melissa St. Germain was nursing a large crush on Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson.  It was equally common knowledge in the marshal’s office that Tim thought Melissa was cute, loved to irritate her, and loved to make her laugh.  He seemed to do both in equal measure.

They had done this dance over and over for weeks that had then stretched into months.  There were days when she believed with everything in her, would have swore it on a stack of Bibles that Tim was holding back on reports on purpose.  Just to rile her off, see her stomp around, and then offer her chocolate with that irritating grin on his face.  That grin that she wanted to kiss, the one that made her want to curl up in his lap, and tug his shirt off, and just shut him up. 

Despite her want, he never made an overt move towards her.  He flirted, in his own way, he stared at her until she turned shades of red she did not think were possible, laughed at her when she stomped in frustration, and quickly found out her favorite candy bar.  It seemed there was a never ending supply in them in some drawer in his desk, she was offered one at least once every time she was there.  But things ended there, much to her frustration, a little flirting that some days confused her, some days frustrated her, almost always made her tingly, and things always came to a stop there. 

It was infuriating.   Every time she stood in that damned office, she had a recurring fantasy, of waltzing over to his desk, taking the phone from him, hanging up, and leaning over his desk until she was nose to nose with the man.  And staring into his dark blue gaze, the one that shifted between gray and blue seeming with his mood, she would tell him that he was the most infuriating man on the face of the planet, in the history of the world.  Somewhere in the fantasy, he would tell her she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, and he would kiss her, and after that, she would finally get to see what he looked like with his shirt off.  Each time she found herself going to the courthouse, needing an arrest report, she would resolve to carry out that fantasy, at least the first part, to go nose to nose with the marshal, and tell him that he was pissing her off, that he had gotten under her skin, and that she liked it.  It never happened, he made her mad, got her the report she needed, and she found herself in the elevator, headed back downstairs, opening a candy bar, and sighing with want and frustration.  She has no idea how he felt about her, if the flirtation was nothing more than that to him, or if there was something more.

There was more.  Tim had seen her one day, after Raylan shot someone, after he shot someone, after Art had yelled on the phone so loudly that his ears still ached, half an hour later.  She was standing in front of Rachel’s desk, going over an arrest report, getting Rachel’s take on the situation. Someone, he could not remember who, had flipped open the blinds, letting light in.  He knew a couple of things in that moment, as Melissa stood in the sunlight; her hair had red streaks in it, and the shirt she was wearing was see through.  His sharp vision, used by the Army and now the Marshals, had caught the faint hint of a lacy bra strap, the outline of a slim back, and a tummy with just a small curve to it, and just had he had strained to see more, she had turned, stepping out of the sunlight, she was facing him when she lifted her lashes from the files in her arms.

It was uncharacteristic of Tim to trip, or misstep, and years of training did not fail him now, he had not missed a step.  But he had completely missed what Raylan was saying.  Melissa had the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen, they seemed brighter against her pale skin, pale skin that had freckles.  Just enough to reveal her time in the sun on the weekends, but they were there. 

The next time he had seen her, standing in the office, tapping one foot, he had realized why she was there.  If reports were not filed on a regular basis, she would get impatient and come get them.  A fatal flaw in Melissa had finally been revealed, she was a perfectionist.  He would see her more, if his reports were late.  Of course, she would be furious with him, her small frame fairly vibrating with anger, but it seemed to fade when he offered her something to eat, a peace offering that melted her.  She turned the most interesting shade of red when he flirted with her, or when she caught him looking at her; so he did more of both.  When she would come in the office, he would stop what he was doing; fold his arms over his chest, lean against the back of his chair, and just stare at her. 

He liked looking at her, her small frame had curves where they should be, she was short but decidedly feminine; he wanted to count the freckles that were scattered across her nose and cheeks, he wanted to stare in her eyes, to place what color they were perfectly.  He wanted to find out what color those eyes matched.  He really liked looking at her when she would look back, when her cheeks would color with a hot blush, turning dark pink, and she would get fidgety, curling the ends of her long hair around her fingers, or raking it back impatiently.  And when she peeked over at him again, through the heavy layers of hair nearly the color of chocolate, that hid her face, and that she would hide behind, those moments were when he wanted her the most.

The weeks ticked by, and although his want was obvious to everyone who saw him, when both offices would be in an uproar for days when they would see each other, and still he hadn’t made a move towards her.  His past, the past he avoided as much as he could, kept him from her.  A girl like that would want nothing to do with the man he was, the man he had been.  They continued to do the dance, back and forth, Tim provoking her to get a reaction out of her, soothing her with candy, sassing at her, and then finding she had slipped away, once more, to go back to her job.  As patient as he was, even his training in the Army was starting to fail him, and he was ever closing to grabbing her, dragging her out of the office, and then finding out just exactly how she felt about him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The marshals had been busy this weekend, several major drug busts, arrests, and that meant Melissa had a stack of reports.  Things were moving unusually quickly, she was due in court, with a report on the conditions some of the children were in during the arrests in just a couple days, and she needed the arrest reports.  Her cobalt gaze was studying the file she had on one family, resting the file on the steering wheel of her truck, which was idling in the parking lot of the courthouse.  There were not many reasons to dawdle along, she had a lot to do in a short amount of time, but she also wanted to be familiar with the case and to be honest, she was delaying the inevitable.  She was equal parts glad she got to get a peek at Tim, glad she would get to trade barbs with Raylan, and glad she would get to see Rachel, the only marshal who seemed to get the reports she needed back to her on time.   There was also some apprehension, the tingly anticipation she always felt coming here.  After leaving the bull pen, she would be off-balance, trying to figure out what Tim was thinking, trying to understand the man, for the rest of the day, and for a few minutes, she had things uncomplicated.  With a sigh, she slides from her truck, shutting the doors, making sure the name badge identifying her as a case worker was in view, before heading into the courthouse. 

The elevator, abused by frequent emergency stops during fights between Raylan and Winona, Raylan and Art, Raylan and whoever he was mad at during the moment, creaked and groaned its way up.  Melissa sucked in a breath, and held it; one foot tapping nervously, the elevator was the last place she wanted to get stuck.  While she was not claustrophobic, she did not relish the idea of being pinned in the elevator, sitting there until someone rescued her. 

“Please.. not today.  I’ll take the stairs back down, I promise”, no one was there to hear the words, as she nervously toyed with the butterfly charm that brushed against the collar of her shirt, held there by a thin, woven silver chain.  Anxiously she twisted the necklace around her fingers, trying to keep from panicking when the elevator makes a small pause, fairly bouncing with tension. 

Just as she was beginning to get dizzy from holding her breath, the elevator made a stop, groaning and creaking in protest, the doors slid open, and she was standing in front of the marshal’s office.  The badge around her neck, identifying her as a social worker, would get her in; the secretary at the front desk did little more than wave and exchange hellos with her now, no longer even glancing at her id badge.  Still, her feet, dressed in a favorite pair of ballet slippers, did not move, instead she stood where she was, her fingers tangled in the necklace. 

For a moment, Melissa remembers the first few weeks at Child and Adult Protective Services, she had come in as they were updating an ancient filing and computer system, and it had taken months to track down the arrest records of various fathers and mothers, to fill in incomplete reports.  It had been a nightmare, especially to someone as organized as Melissa was, who had colored coded files on her desk, had an even number of pens and an odd number of pencils, but always the same number of both, in the holder on her desk, and who scrubbed her bathroom when she was stressed.  Since taking the job in Lexington, that was frequently, and her bath tub was so clean you could eat out of it.

Shaking off the memories of the past year, she made her way into the bull pen, the soles of her ballet slippers barely making a noise as she walked.  Melissa hated heels, even though they would boost her height, just past five foot five, and make her look as tall as she wanted to be.  But she could not stand blisters, and so, her normal shoes at work were ballet slippers, she had numerous pairs.  She even had a pink leopard print pair, which had drawn questions from Raylan Givens, who fought to keep from laughing as she propped her feet in a chair, the better to see her shoes.  At least they had matched her shirt.  In that moment, when Raylan was bent over her feet, laughing at her shoes, she had not seen Tim, his glare at Raylan, nor had she seen him angrily make a few phone calls, getting angrier with a parole officer than he should be.  But he had been a smart-ass with her a few minutes later, and she had finally gotten flip with him in return.  It had been a moment, where everything unspoken hung in the air, and she had been within a hair’s breadth of acting out her fantasy, and Tim had been equally as close with his.  Before either could make a move, Art was yelling from his office, and she had slipped away, back to her office.

Melissa had not been back to the marshal’s office since, wanting a reason to do just that, and dreading it at the same time.  In that moment, and since, she had felt that the attraction might be mutual, and she could not help but want to see if she was right or not.  She was not sure how much tension she could take anymore, and either she had to let this crush go, or it had to come to more.  Rachel was on the phone with a parole officer when Melissa stops at her desk, her slim fingers, nails painted a soft pink, lay her list of arrest records on Rachel’s desk, which she leans again, propping one hip against the edge.  Before she can resist the temptation, her bright blue gaze darts to Tim’s desk, and it’s empty.  He’s not there. 

“I wish you two would just get together”, Rachel’s voice shakes her from her thoughts, and the marshal’s dark gaze pins Melissa to the floor.  The only female marshal in the office, Rachel had been amused by the back and forth between Melissa and Tim, expecting that, after a few visits from the caseworker, they would have been doing… something.  Instead, they had bounced back and forth, flirting and staring, but never making a move.  The tension was even bugging Rachel, who had been forced to deal with Tim’s attitude, not quite surly, but more unsettled than usual, on a couple stakeouts recently.

“I’m gonna pretend I have no idea what you’re talking about.  Can I have my reports??” Melissa rakes a hand through her hair, just past the middle of her back, the ends curling, long layers cut in front to hide behind, which she is doing now.  She has never been able to keep her thoughts off of her face, and now, from her pointed chin to her hairline, across her high cheekbones and up her nose, she was blushing.  The color darkened the freckles, making them more apparent. 

“Of course you can.  And just get on with it.  He thinks you’re cute, you think he’s cute.  Ask him out to dinner”, Rachel holds out the requested reports, the numbers highlighted for Melissa, a few notes written on the back, as to the state of the house, the children, and anything else she might need in family court.  She heaves a sigh, rolling her eyes before she goes back to her computer screen.

“Rachel, I have never asked a man out in my life”, Melissa tucks the reports under her arm, blushing furiously while ticking the reports off the list of what she needs, thankful Tim is not here, thankful the office is quiet, thankful she can focus on the list of reports she needs.

“Then learn.  Or let him do it.  Or I’ll talk to Raylan and he can talk to Tim, and…” having been in the office nearly every time Melissa was, Rachel takes a moment to rib the case worker about it.  Catching Melissa’s furious glare, Rachel laughs, shaking her head as she continues to read the report on her computer screen

“Rachel??  A word please.  And bring Ms. St. Germain with you,” the voice of Art Mullen, floats down to them both, and Melissa looks up, wide eyed, deer caught in the headlights, as Rachel rises, nudging Melissa with her arm, as she walks to the Chief Deputy’s office. 

Thankfully, he leaves the door open as Melissa drops into a seat, balancing the files and her purse on her lap.  An open door means no trouble, no major case, nothing he might yell at.  Then again, Art Mullen has never yelled at Melissa.  He has yelled around her at Raylan several times, a few times at Tim, and once at different marshals, but he has never yelled directly at Melissa.  Actually, he apologized once, when Raylan was weeks late with a report she needed. 

“Melissa, I’ll just cut right through the bullshit and get to the point. Calling the office after we make an arrest, and then having one of you drive to us to get the kids, seems to be a waste of everyone’s time”, Art motions to a corner of his desk, where Melissa can sit the files she has already picked up.  She takes a seat across from the Chief Deputy, putting the files down, and tugging a bottle of water from her purse. 

“The idea was raised, of putting a social worker here, in the office.  Available when the Marshal’s go out to pick someone up, and to act as a liaison between this office and Child and Adult Protective Services”, he takes his spot behind his desk, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his balding head.

“It was at that meeting last month, I agree it would help out tremendously.  You would want one of the social workers who specialize in children, that’s what you need us for the most”, Melissa nodded in agreement to Art, twisting the cap on the water bottle nervously, on and then off.  The idea being floated, of being assigned to the marshal’s office, would be a boost to any caseworker’s career, and anticipation suddenly trips down Melissa’s spine, giving her chills.

“I think it should have been done a long time ago, it’s not fair to those kids to have to sit and wait when we make an arrest”, Rachel’s focused gaze darkens for a moment with sadness; too often she had seen young children upset and afraid during an arrest.  It bothered her, even as she focused on the job she was doing.

“Well, you might want to start doing a little more of it.  The idea has been approved by your boss, and you’re it.  I’ll send someone to help you with your files, as soon as I find a place for you”, Art smiles at her, gesturing to the office behind them, which is bustling with activity. 

As Art was talking, Melissa had taken a sip of water, and when his words sink in to head, that she will be in this office, her job mostly now dedicated to the Marshals Service, she chokes, water nearly coming out of her nose, while Rachel smacks her back a few times..  She will be in the same office as Tim, every day.  Even on the days when he infuriates the shit out of her, she’ll be in the same office with him; and at the same time, this is huge for her career, there are other caseworkers in the office, with more time on the job than her, who were more seasoned than she was, and she had been picked.  For a moment, she replays the fantasy she has built for weeks, trying to catch her breath after her coughing fit, her mind torn between pride and embarrassment.  Rachel pats her harder on the back, grinning and laughing, while Art waits for a response.

“I can’t…. I mean, I’m honored that you think so highly of me, but I can’t, I mean…” she trails off, dropping her forehead into her palm, and trying to catch her breath after her coughing fit.  Her dark hair falls over her face, giving her a youthful look.  It happened frequently, Melissa was mistaken for a teenager, often times at an arrest, when she was coming to get some poor soul’s kids. 

“Your boss thinks highly of you.  I came down and listened to your testimony in a couple of cases, namely the Duncan case.  Your case files are immaculate, you are nearly perfect on the stand, and you have the soft touch a child requires”, Art gestured to his phone for emphasis, having spent hours talking with the Director of Child and Adult Protective Services, going ove who would be the best fit for the marshal’s office, and then he stood up, walking to the door and leaning out. 

“Raylan… Tim… my office.”

“God no… no.  no.  Not both of them”, Melissa stammers out a whisper, while Rachel takes the mostly untouched water bottle and sits it on the desk.  Melissa’s face is buried in her hands again, letting her dark hair cascade around her face hiding her; while she tries to sink further into the chair, praying to God the earth will open up in the next second or so.

“You’re going to like it here.  It’s always entertaining”, Rachel grins at Melissa before standing up and slipping out the door as both men lean in.

“Hello Ms. St. Germain”, Raylan gives her that good ole boy southern smile, as he slips into the chair Rachel just left.  While Melissa does not fall at his feet, having been raised around Southern Charm all of her life, she does smile at him. 

But her smile broadens, for a moment, when Tim leans against the doorway, folding his arms against his chest.  He was shorter than Raylan, but with Melissa as short as she was, Raylan was nearly intimidating.  The muscles in Tim’s arms bunch as he moves, and for a moment Melissa is fascinated with his hands, studying them intently.  For a moment she wants to reach out and curl her fingers around his, to see if he has calluses or not, to see what his hands really feel like.  But then Art speaks, and she yanks herself back to the moment.

“I want you both to know, Child and Adult Protective Services has agreed to assign a case worker to this office, to make things easier when we make an arrest and there are kids involved, and to serve as a sort of liaison between our office and theirs”, Art motions to Melissa, who finds herself with Raylan on her right, and Tim leaning against the doorway to her left, effectively pinned in, “You’re looking at our new caseworker. Melissa has been picked to work with us.”

When both look at her, Melissa leans back against the chair, her slim fingers, tipped by short but well manicured nails, painted a soft shade of sheer pink, reaching for the butterfly necklace she wears, twisting it nervously.  And she cannot meet either’s gaze; instead she stares steadily at Art, feeling the blush creeping up over her color bone, then her cheeks, darkening the freckles on her nose, before reaching her hairline.  This time though, she manages to keep her chin up, and does not hide behind her hair.  Her work, all the time and dedication she has put in the months, coming up on a year that she had been here, was being noticed, and she was being rewarded.  That knowledge kept her from ducking her head back down. 

“She’s cute and all, but I was really expecting to see that other woman, the plump one.  With the white hair”, Raylan gestures with his hands, outlining the form of another caseworker, before nudging her foot with his booted one, “you’re blushing darlin’”.

“Raylan, I didn’t know you had a thing for older women.  I’ll be sure and send Mrs. Parson down here, and I will tell her you think she’s just the most perfect woman for you”, the description of Melissa’s friend and mentor in the office makes her grin, and she finds her inner smart-ass, getting flip with Raylan. 

Tim says nothing, merely taking the new situation in.  His sharp gaze does not miss as Melissa’s dark hair parts around her neck, the wide neck of her shirt slipping low over her neck; she has a tattoo there, something that starts just at the base of her neck, and disappears below the wide collar of her shirt that slips towards one shoulder when she moves, the tattoo heading down her back, something with reds and pinks in it.  The younger marshal’s sniper instincts kick in, and he studies her more carefully, searching for other tattoos.  She wears a large watch on her right wrist, she was never without it, and he guessed that she was left handed.  But the large band covers a tattoo there as well; he can just make out the edges that peek out from around her watch band.  Intrigued, he studies her more, not moving from his spot on the office wall, his eyes repeatedly tracking over her form, realizing that Melissa, who could probably fit in a child’s car seat, has more to her, at the same time he appreciate the curves of the woman sitting in profile to him.  She has some secrets, and one of them is the wild child who apparently has a taste for the pain of a tattoo. 

 “I think I’m going to need more chocolate”, Tim grins at Melissa, who had turned her head to look up at him.  He gets a grin in return, even though her cheeks are flushed, and he leans forward, moving off of the wall, and holding out his hand for her to shake, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson.  You must be the new girl.”

She knows that that handshake he’s offering her is both a flirt, and a challenge, and she is struck by the realization that the dance they’ve been doing, around each other, is leading to something else, if she has the courage to make the first move.  She takes his hand, shaking it, her skin breaking out in chills at the first contact, the blush that had stained her cheeks returns, but she meets his gaze, “Nice to meet you.  I’m Melissa St. Germain, the caseworker assigned to the office.  Yeah, I’m the new girl.” 

For a moment, neither has much to say, and the spell is broken by Art’s phone ringing.  All of them leave the office, Raylan smirking at her when he holds out the files she had forgotten, before heading for his desk.  Those files become a security blanket, and she pulls them to her chest, one arm wrapped around the folders, the other one free, and within seconds, she is twisting it around her fingers again.  Now that the initial shock has faded, she is nervous and unsure, the job she has been given has responsibilities she has not had before, she will be without the people she has worked with for months, who have guided her and taught her.  Behind all of her that, is Tim.  She will be in the same office with him.  The thought causes her fingers to twist the butterfly charm around the chain it dangling from even more, threatening to break the necklace completely.

“Always butterflies.  Every time I see you, you have something with butterflies on it”, Tim’s dark gaze, gray and blue, lasers in on her fingers toying with the necklace as he speaks.  Although it does not show, Tim possesses a good poker face, he is more than happy that she will be in the office, despite his belief that she will run when she sees him for what he really is. 

Melissa realizes that he has studied her more than she thought, that all those times he had been grinning at her, mouthing off at her, arguing with her when she needed a report, he was cataloguing something, tucking some small piece of information away.  The blush returns full force, even as she realizes it is a habit from his Army days, when he was a sniper.  Studying a target is a way of life for Tim, and when she’s the target of his attention, he is seeing more than she realized.

“Always.  I like them”, Melissa shifts the folders, which jars her back to reality, and away from his gaze.  And his arms.  And his hands, damn the man, she was still fascinated by his hands, “If I’m going to move in here, I need to get my office packed up.”

Rarely does Tim smile and mean it, often his grin is a smirk, adding to the sass he was giving someone, but this smile that curves his lips is  a real one this time.  The girl he has been stalking, circling ever closer to, is going to be in the office, the closer for him to watch.  Tim has no shortage of women, he can walk into a bar and several will make their way towards him.  Melissa is different somehow, with her mouthy attitude, that thick drawl that gives her away as a southern girl, and that blush.  She blushed if you stared at her long enough, something that had brought endless enjoyment to a man who made his living watching people.  Before he has a smart ass response, something about sending Raylan to get her stuff for her, Art is yelling, a bank robbery, a hostage stand-off, Tim’s skills as a sniper are needed.

She is gone before he is back out of the locker room, although a hint, the barest tease, of her perfume, something soft with vanilla and some flower in it, hangs in the air as he walks out of the door, dressed in tactical gear, carrying his rifle case.  The scent somehow stays with him during the stand-off, he loses it in the smell of gun powder, a second before one of the robber’s dropped dead, ending the stand-off and freeing the hostages inside.  But it’s there again, as he comes out of the locker room late that night, when everything is quiet again. 

For her, the sight of him walking away, shoulders squared, going into the locker room, then to the weapon’s room within, to retrieve the rifle he used, send a tingly, electric thrill down Melissa’s spine, through her fingers.  And then she got warm.  She stayed warm, her skin sensitive, the soft shirt she wore seemingly to rub at her, the rest of the day, and the evening. 

She also found herself watching the news, waiting for word of the stand-off to break. When the reporter, covered in an inch of make-up, breathlessly reported that a sniper had shot one of the robbers, ending the stand-off, she had sighed.  She knew who pulled that trigger, and waited patiently, hidden away somewhere, until the moment was too tense, the shot was perfect, and he had been told to pull.  She even knew the language the sniper spoke, having grown up hearing it.

Melissa St. Germain knew what happened, like she knew her last name.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The uproar over the bank robbery and hostage stand-off took a few days to die down, and for the marshal’s office to go back to normal, the drama with Raylan seething below the surface, Art trying to control it all, Rachel throwing herself into work, and Tim smarting off to whoever crossed his path.  Melissa packed her office in less than a day, thankful that her perfectionist streak made it easier, and after handing a few cases off to the newest social worker in the office, going over any details, and promising to be there when the cases went to court; she was officially working in the marshal’s office at the courthouse.  She even took a day off, spending it getting her hair cut, her toes painted, getting an hour long back rub, simply because she could, and started at the marshal’s office on a Friday. 

 When Tim came out of Art’s office, all quiet swagger and cool control, wearing a pair of khakis that had distracted Melissa for several minutes thanks to the glass walls in Art’s office, a dark blue shirt, and those boots he always wore, there was a pause, a momentary slow down of his steps, that gave him away.  She was finally here, in the office, just feet away.  When he had heard nothing, and seen nothing, when the desk that had been cleared off for her, was left empty an extra day, he thought the whole thing had been called off.

But there sat Melissa.  She was on the phone, her small face unusually pale, one hand buried in her dark hair, pulling it off of her face, listening intently to whoever was talking to her.  No, the person on the other end of the phone was screaming at her, the voice could be heard by the man sitting at the desk next to her, Raylan Givens.  A stack of boxes on the wall behind her showed how little she had unpacked, an open box on her desk had been left alone when the phone on her desk had rang.

“I’m sorry Mr. Duncan, but the judge made his decision.  When you meet the criteria we laid out for you and your wife in court, you can… Sir, I will thank you not to use that kind of language”, to anyone listening, anyone who knew little about Melissa, she was holding her ground with the man, firm, but polite.  But the twang of her accent was heavy in her words, a giveaway that she had had about enough of the man on the phone, and his yelling.

Raylan’s eyebrows lifted as Mr. Duncan told Melissa exactly what he thought of her, her job, the judge, and the psychologist, all of whom had agreed the three little girls would not be going back to the Duncan home anytime soon.  Tim, following Raylan’s somewhat concerned, almost alarmed gaze, changed his path, in a few steps he was standing by Melissa’s desk. Not wanting to take over her job, and aware of how hard she worked at it, Tim said nothing, did nothing, watched her with his cool gaze.  The muscles in his jaw ticked as he heard a particularly nasty insult, and he had the phone out of her hand, hanging up on the screaming man, before he could stop himself.

“I’m not sure about what they pay you, but they don’t pay us enough to take that kind of abuse”, although he was teasing, he was watching Melissa carefully, sniper training taking in the throbbing of her pulse in the small hollow at the base of her throat.  He stayed where he was, leaning against her desk, watching the way her dark hair fell over her eyes, and wanting, for what had to be the millionth time, to see if her hair was as soft as it looked.

Melissa raked a hand through her hair, and sighed, propping her elbows on her desk, and then her forehead in her palms, “He is so angry.  And drunk.  And mean”, she paused, heaving a breath into her lungs, her temper starting to flare, “I’ll be damned before I send those kids back to him.”

Despite himself, Tim quirked a smile, appreciating her courage, studying the case file open on her desk, able to read it upside down.  The kids had been neglected, filthy dirty, starving, the baby left in a dirty diaper so long the poor thing was covered in a nasty rash that required medical treatment, there was no food in the house, one child reported being locked in a closet for days, one had vicious bruises and cuts from a beating with a belt when Melissa showed up on the family doorstep.  Two hours later, the sheriff had arrested Duncan for brandishing a shotgun, the kids were in a foster home, and Melissa was the target of the man’s rage.  Court had not been easy on the Duncan’s either.  Both had a laundry list of things they had to do before they could appear in court to ask for their children back.  Looking at the list, Tim knew what had made Mr. Duncan so mad, mandatory drug and alcohol testing for at least a year, and then periodically after that. 

Melissa was reading the same file, distracted from Tim by the plight of the girls she had bundled up in blankets and taken from that squalid home.  It was not the words that had been hurled at her, angry parents had often said those words to her; it was the man who had been saying them.  Craig Duncan had a laundry list of arrests; again, it was not something that she had not seen before, drugs, stealing cars, several assaults, and several more domestic violence arrests to his credit.  But there was something dark, something menacing about the man.  If she was honest with herself, Melissa had to admit she was scared of him.  She could not seem to focus on what she was doing; she had flipped through the same file three times, looking for a report that was right on top of all other paperwork. 

“Coffee??” Tim’s voice broke her reverie, and when she looked up he had pushed up from her desk, and nodded towards the door, one of his hands raking through his hair. 

The offer was like manna from heaven; the hateful phone call had left her shaken up, she was tired, her back hurt.  But most importantly, Tim was asking her to do something.  With the tension built up between them, she would have agreed to watch paint dry with the man, and she flipped the report shut, dropping the file on her desk, before standing up. 

She was dressed comfortably today, pushing the boundaries of the office wear dress code in the offices she had come from, a long maxi skirt brushed the tops of her feet, a cropped denim jacket, the sleeves rolled back, covered a white shirt underneath.  But the marshal’s did not seem to care what she wore, and she was careful to have a suit in her locker for court appearances.  As she rounded the edge of her desk, she found herself standing in front of Tim, and she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, her mouth suddenly full of cotton, desperately searching for something witty to say.  Her usual smart-mouth seems to disappear when Tim Gutterson stands in front of her, and she had never, ever been this close to him.  The bulge of his arms more apparent this close, the length of his fingers, the waves in his blondish, brownish hair and his eyes. They saw right through her, past the social worker, past the smart-ass, they seemed to be peering right into her, right at the woman she was, beneath all the other layers.  And that woman wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms, rest her head against his shoulder, and let him promise her it would ok.  Even if he didn’t make promises like that, she would be happy to just lean her head against his shoulder.

“We gonna stand here all day marshal, cause if so, I’m gonna sit my ass back down in my chair and get comfy”, she gets flip with him, shoving down her temptations, using sarcasm to keep from throwing herself at his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to lean against him still.

“Well, if we’re talking about things you can with do your ass…” Tim falls into step beside her with his retort, although he took a moment to start walking.  The mention of the curves of Melissa’s backside had drawn his attention to it, and he eyes it appreciatively, with more than a hint of predatory hunger, before she gets too far out of his reach.

“Get me something!!!” Raylan calls after them, his voice loud enough that it echoes through the office, jolting Rachel from her work.

“Get you what??”, Rachel frowns at Raylan, before she sees Tim’s empty desk, and Raylan waves a hand to the empty desk next to him, Melissa’s desk, “Thank God.  Maybe they’ll both get some work done.”

“She’s cute”, Raylan kicked back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, folding his long arms behind his head, looking for all the world like he was relaxing.  Truth be told, Raylan had watched Melissa as intently as Tim had, when she first stood in the bull pen.  She was pretty, she was smart, she was dedicated to her job, and she didn’t seem to have that crazy streak that most women in Raylan’s life had. 

But by the third visit Melissa had paid to the marshal’s office, it was apparent she had caught Tim’s attention, and he had caught hers.  And she was so young, a year or so younger than Tim, which put a decade and a few years between her and Raylan.  He winced at the thought, and went back to work, but he was grinning while he did so.  Tim Gutterson was a tightly wound ball of issues, and while everyone knew when Tim got him some tail, never, since Raylan had been sent back to Lexington, had Tim romanced a girl. 

“It’s either going to be wonderful, or he’ll break her heart, and I’ll have to pick up the pieces for her,” Rachel spoke to Raylan, somehow knowing what he was thinking.  The marshals, witnesses, lawyers, clerks, any man with a beating heart it seemed, would stop and look at her, and more often than not, Melissa completely missed the looks.  Often, the female marshal wondered how Melissa noticed Tim, but then again, Tim made it a point to stare at Melissa, the social worker would had to have been blind, and probably struck dumb, to miss his looks.

“Or she’ll break his”, Art is standing in the doorway, watching Melissa and Tim turn the corner out of the office, headed for the elevators.  The chief deputy never missed anything, and he had known every time Melissa was in the office, Tim would stop what he was doing, and stare at her, most often leaning comfortable against the chair in at his desk, while Melissa waited for whatever she needed.  Art had watched Tim from his office, watching Melissa, and he knew enough about the two of them to know what was coming, “I always wonder what perfume she wears.  Not over-powering, just enough to catch your attention.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

They were outside the marshal’s office before Melissa had much time to think.  Tim’s hand had rested on the small of her back while they walked into the elevator.  It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and Melissa appreciated it, but at the same time, the heat from his palm seemed to be burning through the shirt she wore, straight into her skin. 

Melissa’s head was spinning, by the time the elevator opened, letting them out on the first floor.  Tim had leaned against the elevator wall, his normal position, but he had leaned behind her, and she had been forced to turn around to talk to him.  But she was also laughing, he was telling her about the fights between Art and Raylan, when they would end up in the elevator, the emergency stopped pulled, and what they yelled at each other.  Melissa had been at the office a few months when Raylan was re-assigned to Lexington and the rumors and gossip had been non-stop ever since.  His fights with Art were legendary, and Tim’s re-enactment of them had made her giggle.  But she had never been this close to him, never been alone with him, and never had just a few minutes where he was the only thing in her vision.  He leans so easily against the side of the elevator, so comfortably, once again she possessed by an urge to lean into him, and resting her head against his shoulder. 

Entertaining Melissa was easy to do, and he grinned when she giggled, her nose wrinkling up a little.  When he had assumed his normal pose, arms folded, leaning against the elevator wall, she had turned, facing him, and taken one little, tiny, baby step closer.  His relaxed, nonchalant pose does not change, when she steps within arm’s reach of him, even when he catches a whiff of her perfume.  He cannot stop the change in his pulse, his blood rising, as she looks up at him through her lashes and the layers of hair that fall into her eyes and across her cheek bones.  The want to reach out, push the hair from her face, run his hands through it, is almost overpowering, and he nearly moves towards her, his fingers flexing on the opposite arm, when the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open, and they are facing the people waiting to get on it. 

The moment was broken, and within a few minutes they were in the warm sunshine of the late morning, walking towards the coffee stand.  Melissa is aware, with each step she takes, how close he is, although their arms don’t brush as they walk, she swears she can feel the heat emanating from him, and several times she loses track of what he was talking about, a book he was reading.  Somehow they had switched from Raylan fighting with Art, to books, what they were both reading, what they liked the most. 

He appreciated how animated she got while she was talking about books, her blue eyes sparkling, her small hands making gestures as she talked about walking into a bookstore, and wanting to live in there, just reading books.  It does not take much to imagine her, tucked into a chair, a stack of books by her side, her gaze focused on what she was reading; not paying any attention to the world that goes by.  The sight makes him grin. 

“How many tattoos do you have”, Tim asks the question easily, but it is a change in the subject, they were discussing a book Melissa was reading, one Tim had already read several times.  He watches her out of the corner of his dark blue eyes, grinning when she looks up at him shocked, and then blushes.

“4. I have 4 of them”, self-consciously, Melissa tugs at the watch that covers the one on her wrist.  She does not regret any of the tattoos, nor the time spent getting them, but she is well aware that tattoos are still not yet sociably acceptable.  And she worked with impressionable children, who would not understand the meaning behind them, but might be influenced by them, “how many do you have?”

“Two.  You noticed??” Tim looks over at her, taking his gaze from the street ahead of them, as she lifts her gaze up to his.  Somehow they came to a stop, and stand on the sidewalk facing each other, Melissa looking up at him, tugging on her watch, while he looks town at her, reading her carefully. 

Melissa nods, finally giving up on getting the heavy watch on her wrist situated, a grin tilting the corner of her lips, the lower one just plump enough to want to kiss, to nibble at, maybe even to suck on, “Yeah, I noticed the one on your arm.  The crosshairs on a rifle sight” 

It’s not a question; it’s said like she knows it, which catches Tim off guard for a moment.  Most girls ask him about it, prodding him about what it means, which inevitably leads to his career, how many kills he has made, how long he was in, how long he was deployed, all of the details he tried hard to forget, “Yeah, you recognize it??”

Melissa chooses her answer carefully.  Before she left the main office for Child and Adult Protective Services, she had heard the gossip, even there.  He was ex-Army, ex-Ranger, and ex-scout sniper.  He had an impressive Army career.  And she knows what that often means, unwanted attention, answering questions you didn’t have answers for.  Finally, she sighs, reaching for her wrist with her left hand, and pops open the catch on the watch, sliding it off, and holding it out to Tim. 

Frowning in confusion, he takes the watch, turning it over, looking for an inscription, and then reading it.  There it was a name, a reason why she wore the watch.   He knew it had to be important to her, it was too large to be for her, it never sit just right on her wrist like a smaller watch would have, and he had occasionally seen her tracing the numbers on it with her fingers, gently, almost reverently.

_Sergeant First Class Michael St. Germain_

_75 th Ranger Regiment_

_1963-2002_

As soon as Tim saw the name, and the regiment, he sighed, as understanding dawning on him.  He knew why she wore it now, and he knew how she recognized that tattoo on his wrist, when so many girls didn’t, or thought it was something completely different.  Her father had served in the same regiment, might have served with Tim, might have taught Tim, had he not been killed.  The memories, the ones that keep him up at night, that haunt him more than he lets on, threaten to overwhelm him, he keeps his dark blue gaze focused on her watch, until they pass, until it feels like he can breathe again.  When he looks up, Melissa is watching him, her brow furrowed, her eyes wary, waiting for his reaction. 

Shoving the memories away, he reaches for her wrist, remembering the edges of a tattoo he has seen beneath the watch band, turning her arm over and looking at the tender skin of her wrist.  Daisies, tiny daises, linked together by a thin, dark green vine.  His fingers reach for it, his thumb, calloused yet somehow gentle, traces over it, he is struck by the softness of her skin, and how he can feel her pulse throb against his fingers, as he traces the petals of each daisy, moving on the next down the vine they are linked by. 

Melissa gaze follows his, her body shivering when his fingers trace over the tattoo that the watch mostly hid, “When I was little, I would pick daisies for him, and make him take them to work.  He always complained that the guys gave him shit for it, but if I went very long without doing it, he’d ask about them.”

“I’m sorry,” his fingers continued to trace their fiery path over her skin as he looked down at her.  Her skin was so soft, she smelled so good, and yet, he didn’t move towards her.  Cradling her small, delicately boned face in his hands and kissing her didn’t seem appropriate at the moment, although that’s exactly what he wanted to do.  He understands though, the demons that must plague her, knows why she comes into work some days with dark circles ringing all the way around her eyes.

“Thank you.  Its ok, I dealt with it.  For the most part”, as she spoke, she headed an inward sigh of relief.  Finding out that her father was dead, had died when she was a teenager, tended to somehow put a lot of men off.  More than one had disappeared when she finally revealed the reason why she wore a watch that was 4 sizes too big for her small frame, with more links taken out than left in, and why it covered a tiny chain of daises.

For a few minutes, things were awkward as they resumed their walk, passing the coffee stand in silent agreement, and instead heading for the diner a block or so down from the courthouse.  But a couple wise-ass cracks from Tim, and they were back to talking. 

“I can’t believe you read this much”, Melissa looked up at Tim as they neared the diner, not believing that the man walking with her, a trained sniper, a man who was quietly lethal, would read as much as he did.  He had matched every book she had read with one of his own, or the same one, and Melissa was an avowed bookworm.  She had a book, tucked in her purse back in the office. 

“Why not??  I got used to sitting still for long periods of time,” Tim shrugs as he pulled the door to the diner open, reaching once more for Melissa’s back. Her shirt was thin enough that he would feel the heat from her skin, feel the muscles jump as he touched her, and for a moment he really wished he could tug the shirt up, and see what lay underneath.

Melissa did jump when his palm slid over her back, long fingers nearly reaching around her waist, as they walked to a beaten leather booth, and slid in.  Thankfully, he chose a seat across from her, giving her racing pulse time to come back to a normal rhythm and beat.  She wanted desperately to tug the shirt he wore off, to pull the white undershirt off, and to see the muscles and the skin underneath. 

“You strike me as more a video game type”, she grins at him, although when one of her feet is trapped by both of his, she blushes again, her cheeks flushing hotly. 

“I like to read more”, Tim grins at her, enjoying how easily she responded to him.  The male in him, the primal male underneath the marshal and the sniper, wonders if she will respond to him that well in bed.  He orders enough food to feed a small army, and grins when Melissa orders a cheeseburger, fries, and asks for extra bacon on her burger. 

The plates are spread across the table, and Melissa wondered in astonishment how Tim had managed to eat all of that food, every bit of it, before she was done with her burger and fries.  He was even swiping fries from her plate as she finished up, draining the last of a large strawberry shake. 

“Not chocolate??”, with one hand, he waved towards her glass, pink stains all that was left of the ice cream and milk. 

Melissa had been studying him, intently looking over the youthful baby face, the Cupid’s bow lips, the jaw line that kept his face from being too young looking, when he spoke, and a faint blush stains her cheeks; he was grinning at her, aware that she had been staring at him, “Nope.  I like strawberry better.  Should I like chocolate more?”

Tim leaned forward, cupping her chin in his hand, and using the thumb of that hand to wipe off the strawberry milkshake clinging to her bottom lip, the move sending a bolt of awareness through both of them, “I figured you for a chocolate milkshake kind of girl.”

Her toes curled in shock, Melissa realizes, at that simple touch her toes had balled tightly up in her shoes, while her skin was decorated with goose bumps, and before she could come up with a witty answer, he noticed the chills on her arms, “Cold??”

“No, just sitting across from this cute Marshal, wondering how good he is with his gun”, the words are out of her mouth before her internal censor has time to shut them up, and Melissa blushes, but there is a grin there as well, a flirty little challenge.

“I never miss”, Tim has said the words before, meaning something different entirely, but he grins back at her, the same challenge gleaming from his eyes.  The air around them grows heated, heavy with innuendo and longing and sheer want, neither saying much, but simply staring at the other.  Melissa is left wondering what he looks like with his shirt off, Tim is wondering much the same about her, when the waitress appears, laying a check on the table.

He picks it up, glances at it, and hands the waitress a card, before turning his attention back to the caseworker sitting across from him.  She is watching him with those bright eyes of hers, eyes that seem to blaze against pale skin, surrounded by a thick fringe of dark lashes, and for a few minutes, he simply stares back at her, pulled in by that bright blue gaze. 

“Thank you for lunch.  I meant to just get coffee”, finally Melissa breaks the silence, a soft smile tilting the corners of her lips.

“You’re more fun than anyone else in the office”, he sasses at her, as they slide out of the booth, and Melissa grabs her phone and wallet, while he stretches lazily, contented masculinity, for the moment.

“If you’re gonna be that way, Marshal Gutterson, I’ll go with Raylan  to lunch next time”, Melissa sasses back at him, before turning on her heel and sauntering away, her hips rolling with a gentle rhythm.  Tim grins, enjoying that his target of interest can play his game, sassing back at him with an ease that speaks volumes about her personality. 

His eyes are drawn to her hips, and that ass she mentioned sitting on earlier, once more.  In a second, he’s after her, leaving the receipt for lunch behind, getting to the door just as Melissa does, and opening it for her.  She slips through with a thank you, raking a hand through her long hair, as she slips down the steps of the diner.  Although they could mouth argue and get sarcastic with each other, suddenly, he wants to put those words she just said, out of her mind, wants to leave her with no room to think about Raylan. 

One hand, long used to handling guns, better than most knew themselves, curls around her arm, tugging her backwards and turning her around at the same time.  Off balance from Tim’s sudden movements, Melissa finds herself nearly nose to nose with Tim, the tips of her shoes up against the toes of his boots.  Instinctively she brought her free hand up, pressing her palm against his chest, the woman in her purring in pleasure at the feel of hard muscle beneath her palm, muscle that jumped and twitched when she pressed her palm to it. 

The hand holding her wallet and phone, the one he had reached for and used to turn her to him, came to rest against one of his biceps, his fingers still curled around her wrist, the calloused fingers of his free hand cupping her face in his equally calloused palm.  It was purely a reactionary movement to his hands that had her rubbing one cheek against his fingers, for a moment, before he tipped his hands forward, the motion tipping her chin up to him. 

His lips met hers, and it was like wildfire had been poured into her veins.  Her pink painted toes curled in her shoes once more, her fingers tightened further in his shirt, and she leaned up to him, meeting him halfway.  The world was spinning, everything was off its axis, she was certain the sun was twirling around like a ballerina, the stars were out of alignment, and all she wanted was more.

One of his hands slid from her face and down her shoulder to the small of her back, tugging her closer, and she went willingly, her lips parting just a second or so before his did.  She tasted like strawberry milkshake, and Tim knew he would forever associate the frothy pink drink with Melissa.  Her fingers untangled from his shirt, slid around his neck, as she went onto tiptoe, as the kiss deepened, her lips parting further, and her tongue curling around his, rubbing suggestively.

“Well, Melissa St. Germain.  I had no idea you knew Deputy Marshal Gutterson so well”, the woman’s voice, tinted with age and maturity, shatters the reverie, and Melissa breaks the kiss with a jump.  Mrs. Ethel Parsons, a caseworker in the same office as Melissa, stood behind the shorter woman, as Melissa buried her face in Tim’s shoulder.  Ethel did not have to look at Melissa to know she was blushing, probably turning this particular shade of red that only Melissa had.  But her tone was light, and Ethel was grinning.  Since joining the Lexington office, coming from Texas, Melissa had not dated.  There had been some interest, from lawyers that came in, or that psychologist they used with the kids, but all of them seemed off-put by Melissa’s smart mouth, dedication to her job, and while she flirted, she seemed uninterested in the men that worked around her. 

Ethel knew why, Melissa had revealed her father’s career in the Army, his death in combat, and the echo of that through Melissa’s life.  No one needed a degree in psychology to realize a man would have to be something special to stand in the shadow of Sergeant First Class St. Germain, and not falter.  It seemed, to her hazel gaze, that Tim Gutterson could do just that.

The deputy marshal was cute, Ethel would have fawned all over him 30 some odd years ago; but it was deceptive, he was focused, he was intense, and there was something a little dangerous about a man like him.  Melissa had grown up around men like Tim, and Ethel understood the attraction herself, being the daughter of a Marine. 

“I should get back; I have a stack of files on my desk…” Melissa’s soft voice faltered, she had stepped just enough away from Tim to catch her breath, her arm no longer curled around his neck, but resting on his arm.  Still unable to reach her mentor’s eyes, her cheeks are bright red, the freckles on them standing out in contrast, but she has not pulled out of Tim’s arms entirely.

For his part, Tim said nothing, although he was both irritated and relieved at the interruption.  The sidewalk in front of a diner frequented by marshals, caseworkers, lawyers, and clerks from the courtroom, anyone with business in downtown Lexington was not what he had in mind for a first kiss.  But the man in him, that part of him that had stalked Melissa, driven her insane with fury some days, and wondered what she looked like naked every time he saw her; that part of him wanted to stand on the sidewalk, in the warm, soft sunshine, and kiss her again.  Watching her, the sun weaving red streaks through her dark hair, before he could stop himself, one hand reached for the layered strands in her face, gently pushing them off her cheekbones, and he suddenly did not care who saw them doing what on the sidewalk.

Melissa had somehow gotten under his skin, and he wanted more, despite her embarrassment at getting caught, despite his knowledge that this… whatever it was would be the talk of the courthouse for weeks, despite Art’s anger when he found out.  He would gladly take the yelling from Art for one more kiss.  Just one more.

“Melissa, listen to me.  I don’t care who you date or who you don’t date”, Ethel smiled, reaching out to pat Melissa’s arm, noticing the watch, as she always did, “Keep it out of the office, don’t do anything before the first date.  For the love of God, use some protection.”

“Oh my God”, her small forehead drops into her palm, hiding the brilliant blush that graces her cheeks as Ethel speaks of protection, and sex.

“Shush it.  You two are both old enough to talk to like adults.  You are adults”, the older woman has one hand braced on her hip for emphasis, “And you listen here, Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson.  You take good care of Melissa.  Open her door, make her eat more; don’t let her get into too much trouble.  And young man, you break her heart, you will answer for it.”

At the lecture, Tim could not help the grin that spread across his face.  Ethel Parsons reminded him of a librarian from high school, a woman he had a soft spot for.  Her reputation as a caseworker went before her, tough but fair, equally willing to help out as she was to punish.  There was never a weekend where someone else’s kid wasn’t sleeping on her couch or in a spare bedroom.  Tim liked Ethel, even more now, “I’m more afraid she’ll break mine, me being such a delicate little thing.”

“Oh don’t stand here and bullshit me.  Both of you get back to work”, Ethel waves them off, well aware that several of the clerks from the court house were coming in for lunch, and had probably seen more than Tim and Melissa realized.  The gray-haired older woman was laughing as she went up the steps, word would be back at the marshal’s office before the two love-birds would be, “They’ll make some beautiful babies.”

It took Tim and Melissa longer than it should have to walk the block back to the court house.  Any place Tim found secluded enough, and he pulled Melissa into his arms, stealing hot kisses from her.  At the end of the walk, Melissa had pulled Tim, by the badge attached to his belt, behind a column in the parking lot, and by the time they had pulled away, his jeans were too tight, her skin was flushed, she was shivering, her lips were swollen, and Tim had more than a little light pink lip gloss smeared around his lips.  He wanted more of her, and she wanted more of him. 

They walked into the courthouse, and the girls at the front desk immediately started giggling, covering their mouths with their hands, “What??  Do I have something on my shirt??” Tim stood in the wide entryway of the courthouse, arms spread wide and looking down at his shirt, as if he had poured a bottle of ketchup down the front of it.

“No sir.  But you do have a little lip gloss there”, the braver of the two girls answered him back, motioning to the corner of his mouth. 

Melissa was scarlet at the conversation, her face buried in her eyes, but her fingers were parted just enough to watch the scene unfold before her.  Tim grinned wickedly at the girls, which sent them both into hysterics, before nodding at Melissa, “Well, it’s her fault.”

While the girls were giggling, drawing the interest of the sheriff’s deputy working security, both Tim and Melissa step through the metal detectors, before walking to the elevator.  He leans against the wall near the doors, waiting on the elevator to come back down, while Melissa pages through the emails that have come in since she left on lunch.  He is aware of anyone walking past, of the people coming and going, although his gaze flicks away from time to time, it mostly remains on Melissa, who is answering an email.

“You know…” she doesn’t look directly at Tim, but instead glances up at him through the corners of her eyes, “The elevator takes forever to get to the marshal’s floor.  It’s a long ride up there.  Whatever are we going to do??”

He doesn’t move a muscle, staying relaxed and leaning against the wall, but one of his eyebrows arches at her words, before a wicked grin curls his lips, “I can think of one or two things…”

The doors slide open, and Melissa realizes with a sigh that more people are standing behind them, waiting to get on as well.  They won’t have the elevator to themselves, after all, and her fantasy of more of those hot kisses, his hands curling into her hair, or sliding down her back, vanish into thin air.  Once more, Tim slides his hand over the small of her back, as she steps into the elevator, a move that is not lost on the people stepping in with them.  Nor is it lost on anyone when he leans into the back corner, and pulls Melissa with him, her back resting against his chest, one of his hands cupping her shoulder. 

Beneath them, on the first floor, the girls at the front desk are busily texting away, telling the story of the deputy and the caseworker, who had left together, been seen at the diner together, been seen kissing outside the diner together, had walked back into the courthouse together, and Tim was wearing lip gloss.  Melissa’s lip gloss.  And their fellow elevator passengers will be talking about it as well; the sniper turned marshal, the quiet, intense man, with the newest caseworker, the one that had just been moved into the marshal’s office.

The whispering is heavy in the air as Tim and Melissa step off the elevator.  Again, his hand rides on the small of her back, fingers shifting, tightening their grip as they step into the bull pen.  He is quietly possessive, nothing overt, but every marshal in the office, all of them trained to watch people and notice details, see it.

Raylan Givens, booted feet propped up on his desk, flipping through a file casually, definitely sees it.  He sees the way Tim’s fingers trail down Melissa’s arm, although he doesn’t curl his fingers around hers, before he walks to his desk.  He sees the way Tim’s swagger has grown since this morning, he sees the flushed cheeks Melissa has, the smile that curls her mouth.  And he sees the lip gloss Tim has smeared across his lips, and around the corner of his mouth. 

“Tim.. You might want to”, Raylan wipes his mouth, before pointing to Tim, and the young deputy runs the back of his arm across his mouth.  Light pink lip gloss is smeared on his sleeve, just as Art leans out of his office door, pinning Melissa with a look, although Tim shrugs it off with a grin.

“Both of you keep your head in work while you’re in this office”, the chief deputy opens his mouth to say more,  but is interrupted by his phone ringing, and steps back into his office to answer it.

As Art steps away, Raylan leans over into Melissa’s cubicle, eyebrows raised, looking at her expectantly, “have a good time darlin??”

“Yes I did Raylan, lunch was good, the milkshake was perfect”, Melissa grins up at Raylan from an opened file folder, pen in hand, ready to make some notes.

The older marshal blinks for a moment caught off guard by her response, before smiling, “Wait... what... I didn’t think you just went out for food.”

“A lady does not kiss and tell Marshal Givens”, Melissa puts the full force of her southern charm into her response, her words dripping with honey and the accent she never seems to get out of her voice, before looking back down at her work.

“You know, I don’t think there is a man in Lexington you could not twist round your pinkie finger Melissa,” Raylan smirks at her, before turning to answer his phone.  He is gone within a few minutes, taking Tim with him.  The former sniper takes one last look at Melissa, watching her dark hair fall over her cheekbones, before she glances his way, smiles, and waves him off. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day passed quickly, Melissa making her way through the pile of files on her desk, taking a few minutes to straighten out what she will need the time she is in the office and what she won’t while on the phone with the psychologist the office uses, before dropping the pen she was using back in the holder on her desk.  She raises one slim hand to the back of her neck, rubbing at it tiredly, the muscles there clenched and tight from having sat at her desk for so long.  Rarely is she at her desk for this long, she has home visits to make, and court appearances, but today was an exception. 

She was so tired, she had nearly forgotten about lunch, and afterwards, what it was like to be in Tim’s arms, his tongue rubbing against hers in a suggestive rhythm, one of his hands fisted in her hair, the other sliding to the lowest part of her back, gathering handfuls of her long skirt in his hand, crushing and wrinkling the soft jersey fabric.    

The front doors of the office slam open, Tim stalking in, followed by Raylan.  The expression on Tim’s youthful face, dark and pissed off, softens for an instant when he sees Melissa peeking around her computer screen at him, before Art yells from his office, “My office gentlemen.  Now.”

Melissa finds herself dawdling as Art yells at Raylan, Tim leaning against the wall, looking almost bored, unless you paid close attention.  But Melissa could see his jaw tighten the more Art yells, a jaw line that she dusted with tiny kisses this afternoon, while Tim nearly growled and his arms grew tighter around her.  With the memories of their walk back from lunch in her mind, she stays longer than she normally does, re-arranging the files on her desk, cleaning out a drawer full of junk, answering a last minute email, dragging out as much time as she can, hoping to catch Tim as he leaves Art’s office.  Quickly she ran out of things to do, and heaving a sigh, she grabbed her purse, and headed for the locker room.

As soon as she was moved in to the marshal’s office, Art had showed her the locker room the marshal’s kept, giving her one, and she kept a spare set of good clothes, to wear to court, as well as a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt in there, along with the usual feminine clutter.  Tired of wearing a skirt, and wanting the threadbare jeans, soft from years of washing, knees ripped out, she tugs them from her locker, sliding them on underneath her skirt, and then pulling the skirt off.  She’s had the jeans since college, and years of constant wear and washing has made them as comfortable as a pair of sweat pants.  The jean jacket is tugged off, leaving her in the white v-necked shirt, and jeans, barefoot on the tile floor as she searches for her flip flops.

She is still there when Tim slips in, leaning his rifle against a locker as he pulls his open.  He stops what he’s doing, quietly leaning his rifle against a locker, when she turns, bending over to slip into the flip flops. The view down the front of her shirt is more than he can take, and he looks, seeing the gentle curves of her cleavage, tucked into a lacy bra, little more than wisps of silk and lace, held together by some miracle of science.  Or elastic.  His eyes grow hooded and dark, the blue deepening in shade, his fingers flex, almost reaching out to her, before he moves, walking towards her with a quietness that speaks of his years of training.

Just as she tugs her flip flop on, and looks up, Tim is standing in front of her, and Melissa jumps, her eyes wide, surrounded by thick sooty lashes.  His marshal windbreaker is still on, his rifle is still leaning against the locker where he left it, his handgun still strapped to his hip, next to his badge, and as she straightens, his palms meet the lockers on either side of her, leaving her pressed up against the locker behind her.  He leans in, although not to kiss her, his face snuggles into the space between her ear and neck, and he breathes in deeply, heaving a sigh.

“You smell good.  Much better than Harlan”, one of his arms leaves its’ spot on the locker, curling around her waist and pulling her to him, although she goes willingly.

“Harlan??  No wonder you’re so pissed off”, she slides fingers into his hair, running each digit through his slightly waving hair, mussing it, while he continues to breathe against the side of her neck, continuing, “I hear getting in the middle of Raylan’s bullshit pisses everyone off.”

The more she plays with his hair, the more he relaxes, leaning against her, until much of his weight is pressed against hers, and the rest is leaning on the arm still flattened against the locker.  He doesn’t move much, one hand resting on the small of her back, the warmth of his palm burning through her shirt, and into her tender skin, still breathing her in and then back out against the side of her neck, as she plays with his hair, gently coasting her fingers through the light brown strands, down his neck and then back up again.

“Tim??” her fingers still toy with his hair as she says his name, and she grins as she feels a shiver flit down his spine.  Her soft voice wavers, her courage breaking.  Melissa wants this, likes the feel of his body against her, and likes the feel of his hair in her fingers.  But her nerves betray her.

“Yeah??” his head does not lift from its spot, and the movement of his lips against her neck has her twitching, his arm tightening around her to hold her still.

“It’s Friday… I’m starving…” she trails off.  Never in her life has she done what she is fixing to ask.  The number of men that have even seen her naked, let alone gotten more, can be counted on the slim fingers of one of her hands, and she is in entirely new territory. 

“Friday has something to do with you being hungry??” Tim finally lifts his head, grinning as he gently teases her, although he still hasn’t kissed her yet.  Something is coming, he can feel it.  Form the office gossips, he knows that Melissa has not dated since getting here, from the few stories about her time in Texas; he knows she didn’t date much there.  The only daughter of a career Army man, the baby sister of two older brothers, one career Army, and one just out of the service, she must have grown up like Rapunzel in a tower.  He gives her time to finish her thought, dropping his head back onto her shoulder and simply relaxing again.

“There’s this place that makes great barbeque.  Almost as good as mine,” she pauses, her teeth sinking into her lush lower lip, before heaving a breath and forcing the rest of her words out, “And I don’t feel like cooking… but I want barbeque.  And beer.  And…my house or yours??”

“You make barbeque??  Wait… you cook??” Tim’s head came back up, one of his eyebrows lifted in question.   

“I cook.  For the right reasons”, she grins at him, although she’s also waiting expectantly for an answer to her other question.  And it shows, one chocolately brown eyebrow, arching up at him as she grins. 

“I guess I’ll have to give you a couple reasons”, Tim grins at her, suddenly feeling years younger, lighter somehow, than he had on the way back from Harlan.  For once, he hadn’t shot anyone, and Raylan had, and Art could yell more at him on Monday.

Melissa nods, suddenly not able to speak.  The hand that was rubbing her back had slipped beneath her shirt, rubbing at the soft skin just above the waist of her jeans, jeans that cling to her hips.  Everything gets uncomfortably warm, and Melissa, the good girl, suddenly has the thought to push him to the bench, pull off his clothes and drop onto his lap. 

Her eyes must have gotten dark, must have gotten smoky and then bright with want, suddenly Tim’s gaze turned from gentle teasing, and flirting, to naked want, and both of his arms are around her, hauling her from spot against the lockers, until she’s flush against him.  His hips press into hers with enough force for her to get the meaning, and she meets him with her own, rubbing gently against him, while his lips press into hers, his tongue rubbing at her lips until they part, just a second or two, and they are wrapped up in each other.

One of his hands slides down her back, cupping the taut curves of her ass, squeezing it possessively, pulling her closer to him with it, while the other stays where it is, under her shirt, running up and down her back, almost to the her bra line, then to it, coasting over it.  Immediately he feels the lack of a clasp, and knows that it means the clasp is in front, nestled in between the cleavage that drives him to near distraction, as distracted as he can get.  Finally he pulls his lips from hers, although his control wavers when she sinks her teeth, just barely into his lower lip, and then sucks on it suggestively, cradling her face in his calloused palms, he heaves air into his lungs, holding her a little away from him, “If you come home with me, we aren’t stopping with just this.  If I come home with you, it’s the same.”

Her lips trembling, her fingers tight into his shirt around his shoulders, her body stretching as far as she can to press against him, Melissa nods up at him.  In the back of her mind, she says it’s the stress of the job, of having gone too long with someone in her life that pushed her to this; she offered her place up because they are both often called away to work, and who knows when the plans they made will actually come to fruition.  Really, if she is completely honest, it is him.  It is the throb he sets off in the core of her, it’s the chills he sets off down her spine, it’s the way he leans against the wall and watches her, the way his calloused fingers feel against her skin.  It’s the man, not the sniper, not the marshal, that is drawing her in, “I need to stop by the house then, and change.” 

Tim nods, pushing her away from him, taking enough time to put his rifle in its’ case, which leaves Melissa enough time to shut her locker, turn the combination lock, and grab her purse.  As soon as she turns back to him, he is pulling at her hand, tugging her towards the door, which seems to blow open with the force of the want, the heat that had built up in the locker room.  It startles Art, who was still in his office, now drinking with Raylan.  Before he sees Melissa, Art holds up a glass of bourbon to Tim in silent offering, who shakes his head and turns, finally revealing Melissa standing behind him.

She looks like a teenager, in a pair of ripped jeans and a simple shirt, her hair mussed from Tim’s hands, her lips swollen from his kisses, one of her hands held in his.  And she blushes, turning a deep shade of pink that darkens her freckles, before she’s tugged after Tim.  Art blinks in shock for a minute, Tim had never passed up a chance for bourbon, and he just left the locker room with Melissa, but a smile lights his face, “What took the boy so long??”

Raylan had been deep in thought and looks up at Art confused, “Wait... what did you say??”

“You know, you miss an awful lot. Tim went into the locker room a few minutes ago, and just came out.  With Melissa.  And he’s got her with him still”, Art mentions it very casually, motioning with his glass of bourbon to the sight of a retreating Tim and Melissa, but he is carefully watching Raylan.  The tall marshal had been watched, and wanted, by nearly every woman that came in this office, and Melissa, one of the prettiest to grace the bull pen, had eyes for Tim, and somewhere, Art knew, that would bother Raylan.  Melissa was the one that was getting away, getting pulled away.    

Raylan’s gaze follows them, taking in Melissa in those damn jeans, and Tim’s purposeful stride.  For a moment, his jaw ticks, before he relaxes, slouching further in his chair and stretching his long legs out, “She’s too young, too much of a smart ass, and she reads too much.”

“Right.  And you’re not the least little bit jealous”, Art sighs and shakes his head, taking another long sip of bourbon.  Melissa has been in this office less than a week, and Tim, one of his best marshals, was falling for her.  This wasn’t just a casual thing, Art knew casual, and Art knew serious, and all the shades in between.  This was serious.  And if this was serious, he needed more bourbon.

“I am.  I thought about it myself, but then again, seeing as Tim never gets a shot, I figured I’d let him have this one”, Raylan grins, he had been tempted, to seduce the young social worker with his charm, see how far it could get him.  But life was so complicated for him right now, with Winona coming and going, and never knowing what she wanted, or when she wanted it. 

“Good.  Don’t pick a fight over her with Tim.  He’ll shoot you”, Art nodding sagely, setting the empty glass down, “Twenty says Tim is late to work on Monday.”

“Not taking that bet Art”.

 


	6. Chapter 6

They had a humorous moment in the parking lot, standing between his truck and her Tahoe, jet black, shiny, when he was giving her directions.  She blinked up at him, and he paused, thinking he’d lost her, before she started to laugh.

“You live on the other side of my neighborhood,” she was still giggling and laughing, her shoulders shaking.  All this time, and he’d be literally under her nose, “You know the beige house on Magnolia Street, with the white trim?  And the roses going up the side of the house?”

Time nodded, he had driven past the house often, it was one way to get to work, and one way to avoid the school bus route if he was running late.  His eyes land on the Tahoe, and he grins, raking a hand through his hair, “That’s your house??”

Her dark hair shifted against her back as she nodded, the giggles passing, “Yeah, that’s mine.  Some sharp-eyed marshal you are didn’t even realize I lived near you.”

“First you ask me out, then you get all smart ass,” her laughter is infectious, and despite his embarrassment at having missed how close she lives to him, Tim is laughing with her.  Relaxing further, now that he is away from work, away from the mess he will have to clean up on Monday.

 “So I’m gonna go home, change clothes and meet you at your place??”, Melissa unlocks her truck, climbs into the driver’s seat, and then turns, letting her legs dangle over the side of the seat, “Are you sure I don’t need to bring anything??”

“Clothes.  Whatever you need to get to Monday”, he leans into the open door of her truck, his sharp gaze taking in how clean it was, his mouth barely moving as he speaks.  He was pushing his luck, and he knew it, Melissa had not dated anyone since starting here in Lexington, had turned down overtures, spent most of her time buried in work.  But now that she was within his grasp, the pent-up tension is getting the better of him.  His dark blue gaze lifts to her, glittering with want and need, although his body is completely relaxed leaning against the side of her truck.   

“Monday??  You want me to stay…” her words trail off, a blush darkening her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and the top curves of her ears, before making its’ way up to her hairline.  She is in completely new territory, never had she asked someone to dinner, never had the invite been to her house, and never had the response been to pack a bag for the weekend, and come to his house.  But never has she met a man like Tim.

His light brown hair shifts as he nods, mussed by her fingers running through it repeatedly, a grin lifting the corners of her mouth, she hadn’t said no, and he admitted to himself that the idea of her at his house for the weekend was a nice one, “If you think you can handle it for the weekend.”

It is what she needs, that challenge, it is what has drawn her to him, the challenge of him, the unspoken challenge that has been in his gaze, in his smart-ass remarks, every time they have been around each other, and she responds to it, grinning through her blush, “You know Marshal, I think I can.  I’m not sure if you can.”

“I guess we’re gonna find out then, “ Tim’s grin turns wicked, and triumphantly masculine, he is finally getting what he wants, while he pushes away from the door of her truck. 

As he turned to walk away, Melissa reached out, her hand stretching for, and then curling around his arm and pulling him back to her.  From her perch in the driver’s seat, sideways in the chair, she reaches out for him, and he steps in between her knees.  She had meant for it to be one last, lingering kiss.  But instead, the moment her lips brushed against his, they parted, and she sucked on his lower lip gently, teasingly, before he captured her head in his hands, and was rubbing his tongue against hers.  She responded, arching up towards him, tugging on his hair just enough to get him closer to her, while he pulled her to the edge of her seat.  One hand was at the small of her back, holding her still, the other tangled in her dark hair, the color of chocolate and the texture of warm silk.  Her slim legs, toned from two days of swimming and two days of barre exercises during the week, curl around his waist, pulling him to her.  Warmth was pooling between her legs, her want for him taking over, and she lifted her hips off the seat, rubbing against the prominent bulge in his jeans. 

The realization that, were it not for the clothes between them, he would be inside of her, rockets through her.  Any other day, any other man, and she would be pushing him away.  But the more she rubs against him, the harder Tim’s arms get around her, the deeper the kiss gets, the better it feels.  That golden warmth is spreading from the tender folds of flesh, and she whimpers into the kiss, before finally, Tim lifts his head.  His eyes are hooded and hot, his chest expands as he sucks in air, and finally, he pushes her away, sliding her back into place on the driver’s seat, “Go.  Before we get arrested, and then fired.”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel, her fingers grasping it, and then curling tightly around it.  Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she is shocked by this wildly sensual creature that has emerged, but for the most part, she is enjoying it.  Breathing heavily, her lips stinging from the force of the kiss, squirming in her seat as her body throbs for release, she turns the ignition over. 

Only after she starts her truck and pull away does Tim walk to his, his chest heaving with each breath, his pulse thundering in his ears.  From the corner of his eyes, never turning his head, he watches Melissa pull away, before he heads for the barbeque shack she had mentioned, driving faster than he probably should.

Music blasting, windows down in the beautiful weather, Melissa drives to her house.  She has barely put the suv into park when she’s out, grabbing her purse, and heading for the front door.  The neighbors are used to her coming and going, with her job she is frequently gone.  But still, the retirees across the street watch interestedly.

Inside the clean house, decorated with a light hand, but still decidedly feminine, she finds a bag partially packed, for the weekends she is on call.  Quickly she adds to it, making sure she has enough clothes for the weekend, and taking a moment to add a navy blue dress, that ends a few inches above her knee.  It’s comfortable, it’s cute, and it will work if she needs it for some reason.  To the bag she adds a couple of smaller toiletry bags, and finally, a blow-dryer, a brush and a comb.  In true Melissa fashion, the bags all match each other and the whole set matches the purse lying on a table near the front door.

“On my way home.  If you still want to come over”, headed back to his house, Tim sends her a text message.  His baby face is serious as he re-reads the message suddenly he is unsure if she will want to come over, if she’ll want to stay.  One hand rakes through his hair, light brown waves out of place, while he drives through his neighborhood.

Her shirt was sliding up her belly, a small curve there that gives away her taste for junk food, when her phone it chirps at her, and with one hand she picks it up, and a soft smile flitting across her face as she reads the message, at the unspoken insecurity in the text.  Despite the swagger, despite the heat and the want between them, he was still unsure if she wanted to be there.  And there wasn’t any other place she wanted to be, “Give me just a few minutes, changing clothes. I’ll be there.”

Out of the t-shirt she came, tossing it towards the hamper, but not picking it up when she missed, while she shimmied out of the jeans she had put on just a few minutes earlier.  A different shirt, in a soft pink was tossed out of her drawer, along with a denim mini-skirt, followed by panties that matched the shirt, and a bra that matched the panties.  A few minutes later and she was out the door, re-dressed, a pair of pink flop-flops on her feet, lotion smoothed over her legs and arms and the rest of her, her hair brushed, and some lip gloss re-applied. 

The neighbor across the street pokes her husband, who looks up as Melissa tosses the weekend bag in the passenger seat of the truck, and walks across the back and then up towards the driver side.  Melissa may come and go for work, but she never leaves for work looking as she does now.  It appears the dark haired girl has finally found a man. 

It takes less than five minutes to get to Tim’s house, and she smiles as she sees it.  The lawn is well-kept, the landscaping tidy but sparse.  His truck is sitting in the driveway, and she pulls up behind it, turning it off, and sitting still for a minute.

She wants this man.  She wants to be around him, to see what he is like, to see if he does everything as well as he kisses. She wants to sass him when he jokes with her, to prop her feet up in his lap and watch the world go by on a lazy afternoon.  But her nerves overcome her, and she sits where she is for several minutes, the truck idling.  Finally, her interest, her want, gets the better of her, and she shuts the truck off, grabbing her bag, and her purse, before slipping out of her truck. 

The front door, with a series of locks, is wide open, but the screen door is shut.  She knocks on the frame, almost bouncing with nerves, her gaze focused on her toes, on the glittery rhinestones that adorn the straps of her flip flops.  At the sound of his footsteps, she looks up, her teeth sinking into her lip in a movement that betrays her nerves.  They stare at each other through the screen door for what feels like years, but is only a few moments.  Tim is dressed in a different pair of jeans, and a simple t-shirt, he’s barefoot with an unopened beer in his hand, and his hair looks mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly.  It is a completely different look than the in-control, intense Marshal she normally sees, but she realizes she could easily get used to this side of Tim.

“I didn’t expect you to get all dressed up”, he shoots her that smart-ass grin he has, while at the same time pushing the door open, and letting her in. 

“This is not dressed up.  I did put on matching panties though”, she is breathless with anticipation, but still gets flip with him again, speaking before her internal filter can shut her up. 

At her words, Tim pauses, closing his eyes for a moment before taking her bag from her.  Carrying it, he walks past the living room, the kitchen, with an enormous island, covered in butcher block in the middle, and the dining room.  The bedrooms are all on the far side of the house, and into the master bedroom he takes her bag and purse.  There is no mistaking where she is sleeping the next few days, and the thought sends a hot blush up her cheeks.

“Do you need your phone??”, Tim leans out of the bedroom, looking down the short hallway at Melissa, who is standing between the living room and kitchen, staring at two walls of solid bookcase, crammed with books, her blue eyes wide. 

“Do I need??” distractedly, Melissa turns to face him, frowning in thought for a moment.  Trying to focus her thoughts, the amount of books the man had had amazed her, it was another reminder of how complex she was, and her own want, that primeval desire that Tim brought out in her, was clouding her thoughts as well, “No, I doubt anyone will call.  I’ll check it later.”

He disappears for a moment, and she hears the thud of her bag landing on something, maybe a chair.  The smell of barbeque reaches her pert nose, and she follows it into the kitchen, stopping to leave her flip flops in the hall, next to the boots he wears to work.  By the time Tim slips into the kitchen, his footsteps quiet from years of training, Melissa is sitting on the island, her bare legs swinging back and forth, and he takes a minute to appreciate them.  For someone as short as she is, her legs are long, it seems like fifteen miles of curved muscle and skin slides up to the edge of her skirt, ending the other way in light pink painted toes. 

“So there’s another tattoo”, he walks into the kitchen, looking at her feet, leaning against the kitchen counter across from Melissa, his gaze tracing up from the tattoo on her foot, up her legs, his gaze growing hot with want.

“Yeah, there’s two more, hidden away”, Melissa lifts her foot up, studying the tattoo for a moment, before her light cerulean gaze lifts to meet Tim, a blush darkening her cheeks, but her own eyes echo the want in his. 

“Dinner first.  Then I might find them”, A wolfish grin dominates Tim’s face as she slides off the counter. While he grabs plates, and whatever else they need, she opens the bag from the chicken shack.  Barbeque, sides, and a bag full of honey rolls are laid out on the counter. 

Sitting on the counter is a radio, and she reaches for it, turning it on and flipping channels until something comes on, driven by an urge to find something else to focus on.  If she sits in the silence of the room with him, she is afraid she will end up in a puddle at his feet.  As soon as the music starts to play, she finds a perch atop a bar stool on one side of the island, and opens beers for both of them.  Melissa finds herself humming along as they start to fill up their plates, earning her a grin from Tim, and she blushes, “I can change it if you want.”

He shakes his head no, although he reaches to lower the volume a bit, the music continuing to play in the background, “It’s better than anything on TV right now.”

Melissa nods, tucking hair behind her ears, which Tim notices stick out just a little bit too much.  It makes her seem younger than she is, without the guile and calculation that dominate the women that prowl the bars in Lexington, and the effect is more attractive than any of the women he has been around before.  Sitting on the end of the island, watching her, he realizes she is so short she can swing her feet while sitting on the bar stool, and she does through the meal.  Within a few minutes, while she’s kicking her feet, which causes her shirt to shift, and her breasts to jiggle, testing Tim’s concentration, they are talking books.  Which ones they like, which ones they don’t, their personal favorites, before switching to movies.

“Lord of the Rings”, Melissa declares, taking a sip of her beer.  She’s just finishing the first one, and is pleasantly warm and relaxed, “It’s better than Star Wars.”

“You can’t compare them, they’re different genres”, Tim answers, setting his second beer down on the butcher block, stretching his arms over his head, joints popping, before relaxing at the counter again, “that’s like comparing me and you.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

While he was speaking, Melissa had slid off the table, and scraped her plate off in the trash, before rinsing it and leaving it in the sink.  Automatically she starts putting lids on containers and opens his fridge, sighing when she sees the contents, “You need more food that is not enough for the weekend.  And what’s different between you and me.  We’re both human, we’re both American, we both have accents.  We both have blue eyes.” 

Tim moves, sliding off the bar stool, adding his plate to what is sitting in the sink, grinning at her as he leans against the counter by the sink, “Yeah, but you have some things I don’t.  And I have some things you don’t.” 

“You noticed??” shutting the fridge door, she turns and leans flat against it, a few feet away from Tim.  Now that her appetite for food has been sated, they’ve talked about her favorite subjects, and the beer is kicking in more, she is relaxed enough to flirt with him again.

“I noticed the first day I saw you.  You realize that shirt you wore was see-through when you stood in front of that window, right??” he hasn’t moved yet, holding still, waiting to see how far he can push her.  He likes this Melissa, relaxed and joking, the girl who had licked greasy barbeque from her fingers, and then reached for a napkin. 

“It was??” Melissa blinks, the freshly opened beer frozen in front of her lips, that blush she has starting somewhere beneath her shirt, and creeping up her face.  It even darkens the top curve of her ears.

Tim only nods, before moving, and pushing himself off the counter.  They have been doing this for too long, push and pull, and the anticipation has gotten the better of even him.  Trained to lay in wait for days if need be, silent and stealthy; he cannot take the tension anymore.  She is here; barefoot in his kitchen, with a bag of her stuff in his room, and behind her bright blue eyes was the knowledge of what he had done, and what he was still doing.  Most women had run when they first found out, pushed away by his past, scared of it, but Melissa had done the opposite. She was still standing his kitchen, with everything she knew. He could no more stay away from her than he could breathe.  The path he walks across the kitchen is graceful, all fluidity and powerful strength. 

Melissa reached her breaking point somewhere around the time he moves, although her movements are a little hesitant, the deer standing before the wolf.  But she takes the last step to him, lifting her arms to curl them around his neck, and to Tim, that’s a win.  She has to stand on tip toe, her bare feet lifting off the tile floor, and Tim’s arms curl around her back, lifting her a little further up, at the same time he pulls her to him, and then her lips are pressed against his, pressed and then parting, and she’s curling her tongue around his, backing off and sucking on his lower lip.  He knows when her hands leave his shoulders, slide down his arms, and then to the waistband of his jeans, underneath his shirt, and then upwards, roaming over his skin and dragging the t-shirt up higher and higher.  He’s forced to break the kiss to tug the t-shirt off of his head, before he goes back to her mouth again, kissing her harder, sliding his tongue in and out of her mouth in rhythm similar to what he already wants to be doing to the rest of her. 

The rough calluses that dominate his hands slide up her back, over some of the softest skin he’s ever felt, tugging her t-shirt up and once he breaks the kiss, tugging her pink shirt off of her shoulders, and lifting it over her head.  Once it’s free of her slim arms, he tosses it, then looks down, and groans. 

High, firm breasts, with porcelain colored, and porcelain smooth skin, are held up, pushed just slightly up, by the cups of a silken bra that just barely conceals more skin it reveals.  And it’s just a shade darker than her shirt, edged in delicate lace, with a tiny bow hiding the clasp that keeps the cups together.  Remembering her earlier words, he unzips her mini-skirt, pushes it down, and the sight makes him clench his fingers around her hips, squeezing the tender flesh, she wasn’t kidding when she said her panties matched her shirt.  Pink, boy cut, with the same lace trim, they cling to her hips, put emphasis on the tender folds of flesh between her legs, where he desperately wants to be, and he knows enough to know the hem clings to the taut curves of her behind. 

Melissa is dark red now, the blush starting at the top curves of her breasts, and growing upwards.  It is not the sex that is uncomfortable for her, she has never been a prude, she has enjoyed every minute of sex before.  But it is the getting naked in front of a man that troubles her.  It is a vulnerable position, and she blushes harder when Tim reaches for her, his hands skimming over the curves of her breasts, down her stomach, around her hips, and finally settling on the curves of her behind. 

“You’re blushing,” his face is buried in her neck again, but this time, his words are more muffled, his lips busy tracking a path from the tender curve of her ear, to the base of her neck, grinning when she breaks out in chills and shivers.

“I’m nearly naked,” the words come out a little more breathless than she had anticipated, as she goes on tiptoe again, driven by a need to get closer to him.  Her body, covered in nothing but wisps of silk, comes into contact with his now naked chest, and she nearly purrs, her skin growing hot with the contact. 

“Not naked enough,” his answer is muffled, as he sucks on the skin of her shoulder for a moment, putting just the slightest edge of his teeth to her skin, while one hand pops the clasp on her bra open, and the other starts to push those pink panties off her hips.

In answer to his words, her hands go to his jeans, her fingers shaking, but determined to get them off before she’s completely naked.  And she succeeds in undoing the button, unzipping the fly, and getting them shoved down past his hips, when her panties hit the floor.  His hands go back to her shoulders, pushing her bra off, and she takes a moment to shrug out of it, before his mouth meets her again.

This time, as her lips part under his, and their tongues start to curl together, he pulls her to him, and then a little higher, until her painted toes come off the floor.  She gets the hint, and her legs lift, curling around his waist.  It puts her wet center directly over the part of him she wants the most, the part of him that is hard and throbbing, and they’re separated by a pair of boxers, and that is it.  Still kissing her, his hands full of her, he walks to the bedroom, determined to at least get her in his bedroom before his world comes undone. 

For a moment, they stay pressed against the doorway, her fingers in his hair, her legs wrapped around his waist, the boxers he wears slowly sliding down his hips, while she rocks and grinds against him.  He’s almost there, almost pressing in her, before the boxers separate them again, and she’s nearly driven mad, whimpering into his mouth with each breath she takes.  Somehow, he manages to get them to the bed, and then he’s on top of her, shoving his boxers off, maddened by them, and coming back to her. 

Her eyes are bright with need, her cheeks flushed, and she reaches for him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.  She needs more, wants more, and suddenly, he’s holding back.  Slowly her eyes focus on him, the haze of desire lifting for a moment, before he slides down her body.  He spends time on her breasts, sucking on the tender skin, rolling her tightened nipples between his fingers, grinning as she whimpers and squirms, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, her legs curling around his waist, trying to pull him to her.

His superior strength keeps him away though, and he slides further down her body, dropping hot, sucking kisses on the expanse of her skin, his lips stopping at the fleur de lis that is tattooed on one hip.  His fingers trace over it gently, before he grins up at her, “Number 3.”

She nods, her fingers almost knotted in his hair, panting and trying to catch her breath, her dark hair already tangled around her head, her legs shifting restlessly on the bed.  Before she has a smart-ass remark, and it was there, right on the tip of her tongue, Tim shifts lower, and then lower further, his shoulders pushing her slender thighs apart.  Her breath hisses, and then she holds it, her legs clenching, before finally, he slides his tongue in between her slippery folds, in one long lick.

“Holy fuck…” the words are out before she can stop them, her hips bucking up off the bed, her toes curling against his back.  Tim grins wickedly, knowing she is already close to the edge, and wanting, in some masculine way to push her over the edge, to watch her come undone in his hands.  His head dips again, feeling her fingers tug on his hair as she tightens them, before he leans back down, and drawing his tongue up in that wicked lick once again.  Melissa does not curse this time, she has forgotten how to breathe, and when he sucks that most sensitive part of her into his mouth, the air leaves her body in a whoosh, as she whimpers, her fingers leaving his hair and reaching for his shoulders.  He sucks harder, raising one hand, sliding it up her thigh, and before his fingers can reach her, her whimper grows into a moan, and her back arches up off the bed.

The lights from the living room grow bright, as the pleasure arcs straight down her spine, her fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders, before the world spins, and comes undone.  Her curved hips rock gently, with each pulse of pleasure, while Tim continues to suck on her gently, before dragging his tongue up against her in one final lick that has her hips jerking.  Her heart races like a thoroughbred as he leans back up above her, her fingers rubbing the spots in his shoulders where her nails have dug in.  He grins down at her, all masculine pride, at having pushed the woman in his arms over the edge, having been the one that made her world come apart.  But the rest of him is taut, he is rock hard, and rubbing against her thigh, which brings her back to where she is.

An earth-shattering orgasm for her, and he is still wanting.  Gently she pushes against his chest, and he lets her, sitting up and then leaning backwards when she continues to push his chest, dropping little kisses along his chest, her teeth nipping at the tattoo on his chest.  It’s a familiar symbol, the airborne badge, she has seen it before, and it brings a grin to her lips.  But she continues on her mission, and her lips drift southwards, over some scars, a couple of bruises, it seems Tim is always bruised or sporting a new scar, and she stops at each spot to press a tender kiss on the bruised flesh. 

Her lips ghost over his navel, and he grins, although it’s a pained grin, he is painfully hard and throbbing, his hips jerk when her fingers curl around his length, stroking gently, her grip tightening as she draws each stroke out longer and longer, her hips pressing kisses into a sore spot on his hip.  He finds himself holding his breath, as her full lips near him, and finally, it is his turn to curse, her lips close around his, and slide down, further than he would have given her credit for, in one smooth move.  The blistering curse words would have made her giggle, were she not intent on what she was doing, slowly she sucks on his cock, moving up and down until she establishes a slow, but intense rhythm, her hand sliding up and down to meet his mouth.

His knees are shaking, had he been standing he would have been on the floor by now, when she lifts her bright gaze to his, her hair held up in both of his hands, and sucks on him harder.  The gleam in her eyes turns positively wicked, and Tim cannot take much more.  What she doing is heaven, but heaven isn’t quite enough for him, and he needs more.  Grabbing her by one shoulder, he brings her up to him, rolling her beneath him and reaching for the nightstand drawer at the same time.  Tim sees the uncertain look in her bright gaze, and shakes his head, as he tugs the drawer open, “No, it’s not that. I just need more.  You’re going to drive me insane, but I need more of you.”

Proof to his words, his hands are shaking when he tears the condom packet open, and it takes him a few tries to get it open enough to get the circle of latex out of the packet.  At his words, she smiles, leaning up to take over for him, carefully unrolling the condom down his length, her touch causing him to curse again.  As soon as it’s rolled completely on, before she has time to lean back, he is on her, pinning her to the bed with his lean strength. 

Her legs part easily for him, and he settles between them, like he has always been there.  Already his skin is slicked in sweat, already she is shaking again, shivers running down her spine.  One touch, one gentle brush against her core, to make absolutely sure, to give her time to back away, and she lifts her eyes to his.

“Please…” her fingers tighten on his shoulder, one hand slides up to his hair again, and she lifts her hips from the bed eagerly.  He is all too willing to give in to her, and he sinks into her, slowly.  She is mind-blowingly tight, and he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head at the sensation.  Her head curls into his shoulder, her legs curl around his waist, and she pulls at him, trying in vain to get him deeper in somehow, feeling that familiar burn, deep inside her, that seems to grow hotter as he pulls out, and then pushes back in.

It is a slow, but intense, heavy rhythm, the headboard thumps against the wall, the pillows are pushed unceremoniously to the floor, and his fingers interlace with hers, pinning her arms down above her head.  Each thrust is met by her hips, eagerly, and she milks him with her body, earning her more curse words.  Her whimpers grow again, turning into the breathless moans he heard just a few minutes ago, each one lighting him further on fire, and with each one, he pushes into her harder, his speed increasing.  Melissa arches off the bed, her fingers tightening around his until her knuckles turn white, and her moan rising, until his lips silence her with a hot kiss.  Her body convulses, her hips rocking against his, milking him, and Tim curses as lightening shoots down his spine.  His world grows bright, and he buries his face in her shoulder and hair, groaning as he explodes, pushing her further, and she clenches around him, his name falling from her full and bruised lips.

She coasts back to the earth, her fingers tracing up and down his back, feeling a few old scars, one raised and round, occasionally rising to play with his hair.  His head was nestled into her neck again, and he drops a tender kiss on the spot below her ear, before rising up, panting and trying to catch his breath.

“Probably didn’t need to bring clothes,” he grins at her, slowly pulling out of her, the movement sending shockwaves through her, and she shivers.  A little unsteadily, he slides to the bed, rises and walks to the bathroom, “Because we’re doing that again.  Soon.”

Melissa smiles, rolling to her side, and pushing herself up onto her elbows, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and pooling on the bed behind her, unabashedly watching him walk to the bathroom, “We are??  I must have missed the memo.”


	8. Chapter 8

Tim leans out of the bathroom, giving her a heated look that has her shivering, and she grins at him, stretching out on her stomach, too relaxed to care that she doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on.  Her upper back is dominated by a tattoo.  Stargazer lilies, the petals of one flower reaching up almost to the base of her neck, the other two stretching down over her spine and reaching towards her shoulders, the colors show up well against her creamy pale skin.  His dark blue gray gaze takes it in, as he walks back to the bed, sliding onto the cool sheets, and running his fingers over the petals of the lily, “And the last one.  How long did it take?”

“4 hours.  All at one time,” Melissa grins up at him from one smooth shoulder, proud of herself for having endured the pain of that tattoo.  It had hurt, her skin feeling raw and scraped by the time it was over, and she had broken down and cried in the middle of it.  But it was worth it. 

The look Tim gives her is an admiring one, he knows how badly it must have hurt, in such a tender place, his gaze searching for the other three, he runs his fingers over her skin, enjoying having her naked in front of him, “So what’s the story with each one??”

“The hearts are for a friend from college.  She was diagnosed with cancer our senior year, and we got heart tattoos for her.  The fleur de lis on my hip is from my family, part of my Dad’s family is French, you know what the daisies are for, and the star gazers…” she pauses, leaning up enough to run her fingers over  them, curling her fingers around his, “I liked them.  I wanted something pretty, to remind me to look for the good in life, when everything gets bad.  So I had them done.”

“Did she die??” his fingers are curled around hers as she rolls to her side to face him, and he watches her.  Death has taken much from her, and her family, and he knows how badly that hurts.

“My college friend??  No, she had a bone marrow transplant, and when she was better, she married one of our mutual friends, and now has twin little girls. They’re just over a year old,” she smiles up at him, having caught the look of concern on his face when she mentioned her sick friend, “it’s such a fairy tale.”

Tim has lived no fairy tale.  Life was hard before the Army, and he signed up to get out of his hometown, and away from his family, his Dad dying before he had a chance to pay him back for his years of abuse, he doesn’t say anything to Melissa, but his blue gray eyes grow distant and withdrawn.  Most women wouldn’t have noticed it, merely continued to bask in the afterglow.

But this girl is not like the others, and she moves, pushing herself up, and running her hands down his cheeks, “hey… where did you go??”

When he still doesn’t speak, she sighs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “you don’t have to talk, explain it to me.  I get that there are some things you can’t talk about.  Just don’t go inside your head right now.”

He still doesn’t speak, and just when Melissa would pull away, fighting to keep her hurt hidden away, he moves.  His arms wrap around her waist, and he pushes her back to the bed, resting his head on her stomach.  A sigh breaks from his lips, and her fingers instantly rise to his head, cupping it and holding to him gently, running her fingers through his ruffled hair.  From the kitchen, she can barely hear the radio she turns on during dinner; the station has changed genres, after sundown it plays more classic rock.  And the song she hears brings a grin to her lips. 

_Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah._

_The gypsy flies from coast to coast_

Tim hums along to the song, although he truly cannot carry a tune, his off-key humming makes her smile, and melts her heart further.  Still she continues to play with his hair, relaxing further into the bed, letting him hold onto her.  By the time the song fades from her ears, he heaves another sigh, and looks up at her, propping his chin on her stomach, his dark blue gaze vulnerable somehow, “I want to talk about it.  I want to tell you, but I can’t.  Not right now.”

Melissa nods, running her fingers over his cheekbones, stroking his face gently, her light blue gaze meeting his gently, without guile or the want to pull secrets out of him.  She’s wanted to do this, lay around with him, feeling his skin beneath her fingers, since the first moment she met him, she realizes.  Having grown up around soldiers, she knows how hard it is for them to talk, how deep the wounds of war go, and she knows from experience, having watched her mother’s gentle touch with her father, and then her brothers, that only when Tim feels safe will he talk, “I’m not going to pester you for details.  And when you do tell me, it won’t change how I look at you.  It’s you, not the sniper you were or the marshal you are now, that has me here.”

No woman has said to him anything like that here, in his bed, or in hers, or in any other place.  Since leaving the Army, there have been endless questions, women trying to heal him, trying to make him better, or curious about what he did, or even the rare one turned on by the thought of being with a soldier.  But no woman has accepted his scars and wounds, and simply offered to listen. 

For a moment, the words are nearly there, but he just is not ready for them.  Instead, he wraps his arms around her middle, bringing him closer to her, and she continues to play with his hair, running her fingers through it in a gentle, soothing motion.  Lying there, atop his bed, the covers not pulled back, just mussed, the warmth of the early evening hanging in the air, the exhaustion of the day gets to both of them, and Melissa yawns several times.  His dark blue eyes grow heavy, he relaxes further onto her, and before he falls asleep, he lets go of her, crawling up onto the pillows beside her, pushing her onto her side, and pulling her back against him again.

His youthful face is buried in her silky hair, breathing in her shampoo, and that perfume again.  If he was not so tired, he would pick up his head from the pillow, ask her what it is, but he suddenly cannot string two words together.  It takes effort to tangle his legs with hers, but he does that too, not stopping until as much of her skin is pressed against his as is possible, before he relaxes. 

As he drifts off, she is running her fingers up and down his arm, relaxing against his warmth.  Sleep comes easy, her back pressed against his chest, and Melissa’s lashes flutter only a few times before her eyes close, and as her breathing deepens, evening out into a deeper rhythm, she is aware of his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him, flexing and pulling her to him in his sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Melissa’s eyes opened to a darkened room, and a chill skates down her arms and legs, breaking chills out on her pale skin.  Without the walking space heater that was Tim sleeping behind her, she had gotten cold laying atop the comforter and sheets.  Slowly she rolls onto her back, her hand reaching out, and then landing on top of a slightly warm imprint of his body on the bed.   Fully awake now, she sits up, looking around the bedroom, and finding it dark, the bathroom light is off, but the door is open just a crack, letting faint light in. 

She slides from bed, wincing at the soreness in her body, that post sex ache that has her grinning as she slips from the bed, landing on her pink painted toes, and stretches, slowly easing the kinks in her shoulder and back out, walking on tiptoe to her bag, sitting in a nearby chair.  Leaning against the footboard of the bed, she tugs a pair of pajama shorts on, with Mickey Mouse embroidered on one leg, and a matching t-shirt.  Sliding her long hair out from under the collar of the shirt, she takes a moment to check her phone, looking at the time, a little after 2 in the morning.  Her clothes do little to counter the chill in the room; and she grabs a throw blanket that was draped over the same chair her bag sits in, wrapping it around her shoulders, burrowing into it before tugging the bedroom door open enough to slip through it.

Trying her best to walk quietly, she rises onto her tiptoes again, but her bare feet still whisper across the wood floor, as she peeks from the hallway into the living room.  Tim is standing in front of a bank of windows, one arm propped against the window sill, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, his head tilts in direction, a giveaway that he has heard her, his eyes stay focused on the night darkened back yard, as she walks into the living room.  Melissa moves carefully, giving him enough time to pull away or move, giving him space to be if he wants or needs it; Tim stays where he is, although his dark gaze leaves the backyard to look at Melissa as she makes her way to him.  The look in his gray blue gaze is one Melissa recognizes she has seen it in both of her brother’s eyes, and her tender heart aches for Tim. 

Instead of standing beside him, she slips behind him, laying one hand on his back; he reaches for it, tugging her by the wrist until her arm curls around his side, her palm pressed flat against his chest.  She follows suit with her other hand, encircling him from behind, and leaning her smooth cheek against his back.  Her warmth was welcomed, and so was her presence, he leans back against her, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking over the backyard again, thankful to have someone there, without having to answer questions he is not prepared to, questions he is not sure he has the answers to.

They stay like that, silvered moonlight pouring over them, for several minutes, Melissa unwilling to push him to open him, or pester him with questions.  Finally she breaks her silence, although her voice is whisper quiet, “What can I do??”

He was expecting a joke, or a plea to come back to bed, anything of the things he has heard when he cannot sleep.  But instead, Melissa had asked what she could do; a gentle offer of help in the dark, and her unexpected question both softens him, and unsettles him.  His nightmare darkened gaze is deeper now, his back and arms covered in a thin sheen of sweat that is slowly cooling, leaving his arms and back chilled.  Tim reaches behind him to tug her closer to his back, using the blanket she’s wrapped up in for leverage, pulling her to him until she is pressed against his back, her warmth soaking into his skin, and then deeper, slowly relaxing him. There was nothing she could do; a nightmare had jarred him from sleep, the aftermath of it driving him from bed.  He had wanted to stay with her, to curl around her and let her warmth and that soft gentle smell of perfume that somehow still clung to her, lull him back to sleep, but he had been shaking so hard he was afraid she would wake up.

“Nothing… just needed to take in all this”, he gestures to the backyard, quiet in the night, the moonlight spilling over the lawn and grass, over the grill and the porch and chairs on it.  With his defenses lowered, and feeling vulnerable, he reverts to sarcasm. 

“Wouldn’t it look better in the day??”, she teases back, gently, very gently, listening to his heart beat against her ear, his pulse slowing from a thunderous, fast beat, to something slower.  She shifts, wrapping her arms around him a little tighter, silently willing him to relax.

Tim does not have an answer for the gentle question, and for a moment, everything in him screams to pull away.  Except Melissa is not like the women he has brought home before, she is not pushing, not prodding him to open up, instead giving him space to talk if he wants, and letting him stay silent if he needs to.  She is reading him, he realizes, seeing what he keeps masked, and he stiffens for a moment, not wanting to pull away from her, but uncomfortable with how vulnerable she makes him feel.  A moment later, the stiffness eases from him, and he moves away, giving him just enough space to turn and face her, and then he tugs her back to him, again using the blanket to pull her, as he turns sideways, profile to the window. 

Melissa wraps her arms back around him, pressing her cheek against his chest, her arms wrapping the blanket around him as well, and stares out over the night darkened yard, waiting for him to come back out of his past.  She feels him relax further, his chest lifts with a deep breath that he lets out slowly; without warning he is moving again, tugging her backwards to a chair, and pulling her into his lap after he sits down.  Again, Tim wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her skin, peeking out over her to look at the yard.  He says nothing, merely holds onto her, as she combs her fingers through his hair, curling the ends that are long enough around her fingers, before repeating the process.  Her movements start to lengthen, and she runs her fingers through his hair, down his back as far as she can and back up his arms, then his head, and back down again, in one smooth circuit.

Slowly, Tim comes back to the present, and the woman in his arms, who is simply being, simply letting him be, letting him breathe.  It has to be the perfume he decides, he can still smell traces of it on her, and it must be affecting his brain.  The words tumble out before he has time to pull them back in, mask them with some smart-ass reply, “I’m sorry.”

Although Melissa was relaxed, her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, her back resting against the opposite one, letting Tim hold her and keeping up that smooth stroking circuit, she had been intently watching and listening, waiting for him to either talk, or shut everything further away, “Sorry for what??”

“That I woke you, that I got up”, even though he is talking, he doesn’t move from his spot, most of his face burrowed into the valley between her breasts, once again, more words come out before he can stop them, “Sorry I have nightmares and can’t just sleep with you.”

“Tim”, she sighs his name, pausing in his stroking, curling her fingers around his muscled shoulders, tugging him closer to her, and to her relief, he goes, his arms tightening around her further, “Tim, listen to me.  But we all have nightmares.  There are nights I can’t sleep and I pace the floor and there are even some nights when I see the sun come up.  You know that day we were in Judge Reardon’s court room, and I nearly passed out?”

He nods, the shoulders her fingers were still curved around moving as he burrows further into her, his fingers clenching handfuls of her shirt.  Tim had been in court for the case, one of his own, and Melissa had been there as well, the outcome affecting the placement of the defendant’s children.  When court had gone to recess, he had caught sight of her, she had been paler than normal, dark circles so deep they were nearly black rimming her bright blue gaze, and as she took the last steps to the court room doors, her knees had buckled.  From behind her, he had pushed through the crowd of people, towards her, as a bailiff had rushed towards her from the doors, but she had hit the floor before either could get to her, her blue eyes rolled up in her head.   Half an hour later, sporting a large bruise on her forehead, after a being checked over by a medic, she slipped away before Tim could figure out what was going on; and he had been pulled away, needed by Raylan for something.  He listens intently to her, letting her words chase away his nightmare, the memories he tries to keep at bay, desperately wishing that she would resume the slow stroking down his head and back she had been doing, and he sighs contentedly when she starts again.

“I hadn’t gotten more than 10 hours of sleep in 3 days.  I have rough nights too.  I’m not comparing mine and yours, but I want you to understand, I could just as easily have been the one awake and leaving your bed,” her fingers trace down his spine again, running over the scars there, and gently rubbing them, as if she could heal them just by her touch, “So don’t tell me your sorry, you don’t need to. But I want you to promise me something.”

This time, he lifts his head, looking up at her.  His dark blue eyes are haunted, the past chasing him into the present, the sight sends a pang through her, and she moves, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead, “If I’m here, wake me up.  Let me sit with you.”

“Only if you do the same,” in the middle of his house, in the night, he suddenly feels more at peace, lighter somehow, than he has for a long time.  He lifts his head, looking up at her, his gaze more vulnerable now, than she has ever seen it; for a moment she sees the boy he was, before the Army, and war, and the marshals, and his life brought him to Lexington.  Melissa resumes her slow stroking, starting at his head and going down his back, to his arms and up them, then to his head and then back down.  Calmed by her presence, calmed by her lack of questions, her acceptance of what he was then, and who he is now, he relaxes, letting her lull him back to a more peaceful state, and he settles his head against her again. 

The peaceful state lasts for as long as it takes him to feel the warmth, the pressure from the curves of her behind, pressing down gently onto him.  And the feel of her skin against his fingers, which have found their way under her shirt, one hand running down her back, the other tracing designs on her stomach.  Just a hint of her perfume remains on her, now mixed with the smell of him on her skin, and he breathes deep, the smell stirring memories just a few hours old.  The nightmares banished, those memories come back faster, when he finally got what he had wanted for so long, when she was spread out naked in his bed, coming apart in his hands, comes back to him.  In a few seconds he is hard, pushing against her insistently, and the hand on her stomach is sliding up to cup one of her breasts. 

She sucks a breath in, caught somewhat off-guard by his movements.  Melissa would have had to have been struck dumb to miss him growing hard against her, she felt him shift as he did so.  But still, the feel of his fingers sliding up her stomach, where he had been drawing mindless designs of what felt like pure fire on her skin, has her squirming a bit, her back arching into his touch.  When one of his hands cups her breast, with the same amount of concentration and skill he gives to his gun, she shivers and whimpers, her head coming up off the side of the over-stuffed chair, and the long lashes that surround her blue eyes sweeping shut.

Once her back arched into him, a silent signal that she wanted what he was doing, he moved, shifting her against the arm of the chair, and pushing himself up further in it, until he is leaning over her.  Calloused fingers cup the curve of her breast, before sliding further; rubbing her nipple gently, until it hardens, pushing insistently against his fingers, Melissa’s soft whimper stopped by his lips.  Her lips part as soon as she feels his, her tongue rubbing and curling around his, her fingers clenching into his shoulder, and then sliding up into his air, before once more running down his back, her nails raking against his skin as he pinches her tender nipple lightly, just enough to make her breath catch in the back of her throat. 

Already she is on fire, her legs shifting as she squirms, trying to get closer to him, and rubbing the curves of her behind against his growing length.  Tim responds, his hips lifting up off the couch and grinding against her, while his fingers continue to toy with her nipple, rolling it between the pads of his fingers.  He had intended for this time to be slower, to be less fiery, than their first, to take his time, but Melissa is driving him insane.  His hands leave her breasts, sliding down to catch the hem of her shirt, and tug it upwards, breaking the kiss to tug it completely off.

Melissa’s hair slides from her shirt, cascading down her back in a torrent of chocolate covered silk, and Tim’s calloused hands reach for it, sinking his hands into the lush strands, leaning his forehead against hers, while he hauls deep breaths into his lungs, “I want to slow down.  I’m going to slow down.  Next time.  I promise.” 

A shaky laugh leaves Melissa, her fingers tracing over the muscles in his arms, before sliding up to his neck, pressing her high breasts against his chest, sighing at the contact, “I still didn’t get the memo on that next time.”

Tim’s blue gray eyes widen at her smart-ass comment, before he grins, letting her hair slip through his fingers, and then reaching for her waist.  In one smooth motion he stands up, and flips Melissa over his shoulder, her head over his back, and walks towards his bedroom, “I’m gonna show you the memo.”

Off balance from his motions, Melissa lets out a squeal, her hands bracing on his back, giggling despite her arousal.  She kicks her feet in a half-hearted attempt to break free from him, “If you wanted me to go to your bedroom, you just had to ask.”

“And I’m gonna shut that smart mouth of yours”, Tim laughs as he walks into the bedroom, tossing Melissa onto the bed, following her body onto the bed, his hands once more sliding into her hair.  The soft length fans out across the bed behind her, and his mood changes once more, looking down at her.  She is so damn pretty, those blue eyes that seem to stare into him, making him want to pull away and stay where he is, at the same time, and for a moment he looks at her, before his wants get the better of him, and he drops his head for a kiss. 

Melissa wanted the same thing, to slow down, to take her time, to learn Tim’s body, the places that make him jump, the places that make him moan, but as he looks down at her, her playful mood leaves her.  The fires that had been banked roared back to life, and as he kisses her, her lips part again, her hands sliding from his shoulders, underneath his arms, and down his sides, until her fingers curl around the waistband of his boxes, and she unceremoniously pushes them down, shoving them as far as she can reach. 

As her fingers coast down his sides, moving with intent, chills run down Tim’s spine, and his hands start the same path, running over the curves of his breasts, distracted for just a moment, before sliding to the hem of her shorts.  He tugs at them, unwilling to break the kiss; her tongue rubbing against his is sending shockwaves through his system, down to the erection that is freed from his boxers.  Melissa’s hips lift when he tugs at her shorts, and Tim slides them down, finally breaking the kiss to pull them all the way off her legs.  His fingers are momentarily sidetracked by her legs, and he runs them up one leg, over her knee, to her thigh, feeling the velvety soft skin beneath.  No girl has ever had skin like this, and he savors it, before he leans to his nightstand. 

Her heartbeat is thundering in her ears, she is throbbing in places she did not know could throb, it seems if Tim even touches her, she will explode.  Her legs twitch as he trails his fingers up them, her fingers curling around his biceps, as he reaches for another foil packet.  She takes it from him, taking the upper hand, sitting up as she tears into the packet, and then slides the condom out.  She has so rarely taken the lead, instead he has pursued her, and Tim leans back, watching her.  When she reached for him while sitting in her truck, and tugged him to her, it had made him weak kneed.  Melissa wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she was reaching out, through her own shyness, to him. 

Tim’s eyes fall closed, as Melissa unrolls the condom over him, shuddering at her touch, his fingers curling into the comforter, still not tugged down, to keep from snatching her and pushing her onto her back.  He shifts, enough to stretch his legs out in front of him, leaning backwards against the footboard, suddenly thankful he bought a bed frame that came with one, as Melissa slides into his lap. 

“What was it you said about slowing down??” breathless now, slippery with want, but still biting her lip, a motion that betrays her nerves, she moves, straddling his hips, her hair falling down over her face, partially obscuring her face from him.  She is so close, her length brushing against the tender folds of skin, almost there, but still, she holds herself up.

“Melissa… don’t… I can’t… quit teasing dammit,” his eyes snap open, his hands going to her hips and tugging down, trying to use his strength to pull her down onto him, while at the same time his hips buck upwards. The muscles in his arms quiver, trying to keep from flipping her onto her back, determined to let Melissa set the pace this time.

His words send a shiver down her spine, she has Tim beneath her slim thighs, shivering, and a feeling of feminine power comes over her.  She grins, before sliding down his length, not stopping until her hips meet his, a moan escaping her, her hands grabbing the footboard on either side of Tim.  Once more her body milks him, squeezing him tightly, and Tim moans, his fingers digging into her hips, the muscles in his arms flexing once more as Melissa slides up and then back down, slowly establishing a rhythm. 

The threads of his control are snapping, one by one, as Melissa slides up and down his length, he leans forward, kissing and biting his way down the length of her throat, feeling her pulse thundering against his lips.  His teeth sink into her shoulder, biting gently, as she continues to slide up and down his length, he can feel her growing tighter, getting snugger around his length, and he moans, his arms sliding around her back and crushing her chest to his. 

With each movement, her rhythm, steady, all the way up only to slide all the way down in one movement, falters, she is already growing close to an orgasm, it builds with each movement, each time he kisses her, when he bites at her shoulder, when his arms slide around her back.  Her head tips backwards, her hips pressing down against his harder with each movement, her fingers tightening around the footboard of the bed.  Tim lifts his hips off the bed, pressing himself deeper in her, and the movement splinters her.  She moans, her hips pressed tightly to his, her body squeezing and milking his rhythmically.

Tim feels himself losing the last of his control, the last grip he had on it leaves him, as Melissa comes apart in his arms.  Gritting his teeth, he rides out her orgasm, pushing into her gently.  But when her head drops onto his shoulder, he moves, ignoring the muscles in his back that protest, having been cramped against the footboard.  He rolls Melissa to her back, one hand sinking into her hair once more, sinking his fingers into her tresses as deeply as he can, the other gripping the headboard, the carved wood still warm from where she had held it. 

Melissa lifts hazy eyes to him, her fingers sliding down his back, her legs lifting to curl around his waist, as her hips lift to his.  She is already restless, already throbbing with want again, wanting more of him, and she leans up, pressing hot, sucking kisses down the length of neck, “Tim…. More.  I need more.”

“Fuck… Melissa…” Tim groans, his breath catching his throat for a moment.  She feels incredible still; the feel of her skin against his, the soft curves matching against muscles is just this side of heaven.  But when she says his name, asking for more of him, when her hips lift from the bed, his control finally snaps.  With each thrust, he pushes harder into her, his hips meeting hers with a bruising force, his fingers digging into the footboard for leverage, his muscles burning, but he does not stop.  Not when she is truly coming apart in his arms, not when he is so close.

Melissa arches from the bed, her hips meeting his thrusts eagerly, her body milking him, enticing him to bury himself further in her, and her eyes glaze as he does just that.  She is so close, within a few minutes, her breaths short and choppy, her finger nails raking down his back, digging into his skin, her lips parting underneath his, her  tongue curling around his, rubbing in a tantalizing rhythm.  Each movement pushes her closer and closer to the edge again, fire bolts down her spine as her toes curl, her body shaking with each thrust, and she is so close, that fiery edge just so tantalizingly close. 

He shudders, she feels so good, wrapped so tightly around him, and he wants to stay like this for the next year, buried in her, feeling her squeeze around his length.  When her body starts to shake, he groans, knowing she is close, his head drops one more time, his teeth sinking into the tender skin where her neck meets her shoulder.  Something in him wants to mark her, to leave something on her that shows he was here, that the girl beneath him came apart for him, because of him.

When his teeth sink once more into that tender spot, Melissa arches up off the bed, the world growing bright, sparks in her vision, her finger nails digging into the skin of his back, as that sweet release she wanted washes over her.  Her thighs squeeze around his hips, her back arching off the bed, as her body milks him, squeezing him tightly.  Tim groans, letting go of the skin he has bitten, burying himself inside of her one final time, shuddering as his orgasm finds him, his body shaking, his fingers clenching tightly around the footboard of his bed. 

Long minutes pass, while they lay still entwined, upside down on his bed.  The sweat that beaded on his back cools, while his heart beat coasts down to normal.  Her legs are still wrapped around his waist, her fingers trailing up and down his back, soothing the marks she put there, while she lays there, her face buried in his neck.  Tim shifts, cradling her face in his hands, his palms cupping her cheeks, and stares down at her, before dropping a soft but long kiss on her lips.

“I can’t think straight when I get around you”, he smiles down at her, still not moving, not pulling from her.  He is perfectly content to lie there, smoothing strands of dark hair off of her face, while she strokes his back.

“My toes are tingling”, she smiles up at him, dazed but content, still running her fingers up and down his back, her body shivering with aftershocks that coast down her spine. 

“Good, they’re supposed to”, he grins at her, finally pulling away from her body, his breath hissing out as he slides from her body.  Shaky once again, he rolls to the edge of the bed, using the footboard to push up from the bed, and walks to the bedroom.

She turns her head, her eyes watching him as he walks, appreciating the muscles in his back and shoulders that taper down to the butt that has taunted her every time he wore khakis to work, down his legs, and then back up again.  So focused was she on studying him, that she doesn’t realize he is looking over his shoulder at her, grinning at her.

“You’re staring”, Tim is all arrogant male as he walks further into the bathroom, dropping the condom in the trash, and flipping the light off as he walks back into the bedroom.

“You do it to me all the time, I figured it was time to return the favor”, Melissa blushes at his words, but grins at him, moving towards the head of the bed, and falling against the pillows stacked there, her dark hair a tangled mess around her shoulders, and falling across her cheekbones.

“If you didn’t blush so hard, I wouldn’t stare so much”, still feeling cocky from catching her staring, he slides into bed, taking the time to tug the comforter and sheet up over her form, “That’s a lie.  I’d stare at you even if you didn’t blush.  That does help.”

“I blush because you stare.  I always got the feeling you wanted to know what I looked like in my panties when you would stare at me”, Melissa leans away, giving Tim space to crawl into bed, only to be drawn into his arms, going willingly, her cheek propped up on his chest, her palm pressed against his heart.

“I did want to know”, he grins in the dark, letting his body relax in the dark, carefully sliding one arm beneath her, until his palm is pressed against her back, the other he props his head on.

“And to think, you just had to buy me barbecue to find out”, she giggles, floating on that heady afterglow, her body snuggled against his, and her legs entwined with his.

“Should have done it sooner,” he moves his head to press a kiss to her forehead, before settling back on the bed once more, “What’re we doing with the rest of tomorrow?  Errr... today.

“You don’t have enough food for two for a weekend, we need groceries.  After that, I’m pretty easy to entertain, just give me a book to read”, her eyes finally adjust to the dark, and she moves, propping her chin on her palm, atop his chest, looking up at him through the heavy layers of hair that fall into her gaze.

“You know those brownies you make, with the cookie on the bottom?  The ones you left with Rachel”, he shifts, shoving more pillow underneath his head so he can look at her, his dark blue gaze meeting her bright one.  The fingers of his hand draw tiny circles on the skin of her back, idle patterns as she lies underneath him.

“Slutty brownies??” she lifts a brow at him in question, lifting her head up off his chest to look at him, “Let me guess, you want a whole pan to yourself?”

Tim nods, his unguarded expression making him look younger, a grin brightening his face, “Not the whole pan, I’ll share.  But yeah.  And why do you call them slutty brownies?”

“Because the middle layer is whatever you want to put in them”, Melissa blushes slightly as she looks up at him, but finds herself giggling.  The idea of baking brownies in Tim’s kitchen is both odd, and funny, and soothing, all at the same time.

“And they say men are perverted”, Tim shakes his head, laughing himself, his hand trailing up and down her back, “I’m gonna go for a run, and then we’ll go get groceries. And then I want my brownies.”

“You run on Saturdays??”, her nose wrinkles in dislike at the thought, and she wonders when he takes a rest, if he ever does, her fingers tracing patterns across the planes of his chest, “I refuse to run on Saturdays.”

“Yeah, I run on Saturdays.  And you’re running with me,” Tim yawns, stretching out more comfortably on the bed, his fingers pausing on her back.  From an off-hand comment Melissa had made to Rachel, he knew she ran the weeks it was too cold to swim, or when she did not make it to that ballet thing she had talked about with Rachel.

 “I am??” his yawn is contagious, and Melissa buries it in the palm of her hand, before laying her cheek against his muscled chest once more.  When she got to her house to pack, at the bottom of her bag had been a pair of running shoes and yoga pants, clothes to change into if she needed something comfortable while picking up kids, or to grab a quick run if she had the time, and she is suddenly thankful she didn’t take them out when she packed.

“You’re here.  You run, you’re running with me”, Tim leans up a little, shifting his arm so that it is bent beneath his head, cradling her head against him, heaving a sigh of contentment. His eyes drifting shut, covering his blue gray gaze that seems to take in everything and everyone, and seems to see right through Melissa’s sarcasm, right to the heart of her.

“Good thing I brought clothes I can run in.  I hate running on Saturdays”, Melissa gives in, pouting at the idea of running on a Saturday, her dark lashes lowering as her eyes fall shut.

“Quit pouting, you’re running tomorrow”, Tim answers without opening his dark blue eyes, basking in Melissa’s warmth while he drifts off to sleep.  Within a few minutes he is just barely snoring, the sound bringing a sleepy grin to Melissa’s face.  She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to the slow, even cadence of his heart, a counterpoint to hers which rushes and flutters even when she is still; and the sound lulls her back into her sleep. 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Just past sunrise, Tim’s internal clock started jarring him from sleep, an Army habit he had been unable to undo.  Turning, he found Melissa on her stomach, around a yawn he moves,  draping a muscular arm over her back, and buried his face in her dark hair in an effort to go back to sleep, but it fails.  As comfortable as he is, Melissa is warm and soft with sleep, he cannot get his eyes to close again, and with a sigh, he gives up, sliding out of bed, and walking as quietly as he can to the bathroom. 

Once he’s out of the bathroom again, a toothbrush still in his mouth, he walks to his dresser, wincing when one drawer squeaks, shooting a glance at Melissa, who stirs, while he tosses a pair of shorts towards the bed, followed by socks.  Intending to slip out and go for a run, to let Melissa sleep in, he eases onto the bed, leaning over to tug a pair of socks, and then his running shoes on.  She looked so peaceful, dark lashes nearly brushing against her skin, her smooth skin warm from sleep, and dark hair fanned out behind her, that he was unwilling to wake her.

She surfaced from sleep as Tim eased onto the bed, opening one eye, and then the other, looking at him through a tangle of dark hair.  He was moving so quietly, slipping clothes on and then sitting back down carefully, keeping his weight from jostling the bed, and for a moment she is confused.  Sleep fades from her, and she realizes he was going to let her sleep in, enjoy her Saturday morning, and the thought makes her warm and fuzzy feeling.

“Hey… I thought you wanted a running partner”, she pushes herself to her elbows, yawning while she does, not quite ready to move yet.

He had been preoccupied with trying to stay quiet, and her words startle him, he jumps, turning to look at her.  Leaning over towards her, reaches out, carefully pushing strands of hair out of her sleepy eyes, and then running his calloused fingers down her cheek, “I was gonna let you sleep in.  But since you’re up… if you still want to run.”

“Give me a few minutes, I need to get dressed”, slowly Melissa moves from the bed, rolling to the far side, and then easing onto the floor, hissing when her bare feet touch the cold floor.   Again the ache is there, and again, she grins at it as she rises to her tiptoes, trying to avoid touching the cold floor as much as is possible, shutting the door, “ummm… Tim??”

“It’s on the back of the toilet, behind you, sorry, I forgot to put it on the holder”, over his shoulder he looks towards the bathroom door, before going back to his search for a shirt.

“It’s not that… I can’t….,” Melissa turns red, embarrassment getting the better of her, thankful for a solid door between her and Tim.  Mentally she kicks herself, after two rounds of amazing, hot, so good she ached sex, she should be over her shyness, “I can’t pee with an audience.”

“You can’t..” Tim frowns in confusion, turning and leaning against his dresser, a shirt dangling from his hands, forgotten for the moment, “Even your bladder is shy??  What am I supposed to do??  Sing??”

Her laugh is half-strangled as her legs jump, her feet bouncing on the tile floor with impatience, “Sing, make coffee, watch tv… just give me a few minutes...”

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming swimming swimming,” laughing, Tim does as she asked, walking to the kitchen, where a coffee maker sits, along with a bag of coffee beans, “What do we do? We swim, swim.  Ha, ha, ha, ha, ho. I love to swim. When you want to swim you want to swim.”

Melissa is still giggling, at both the absurdity of the situation and at Tim’s off-key rendition of a Disney song, when she emerges from the bathroom just a few minutes later.  Her dark hair has been pulled up into a ponytail; she’s dressed in running clothes, her cheeks pink with a blush despite her amusement, “Finding Nemo??  Really??”

Tim, the king of the lean, is doing just that against the kitchen counter, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, another sitting on the island, “Made you one.  And yes, Finding Nemo.  Not a Disney fan??”

“Thank you. I’m just never going to look at Dory the same way again”, she picks up the cup, decorated with the seal of the Army, and raises an eyebrow, wondering if he know how she liked her coffee.

“More cream and sugar than coffee, just like Rachel”, his nose wrinkles in disgust for a moment, the move making him look closer to a teenager than the adult he is.  Sipping his coffee, he digs a granola bar out of a cabinet, and holds it out to Melissa.

“Is there any other way to drink coffee?” impishly, Melissa sticks her tongue out at him, taking the granola bar and then a sip of her coffee, her bright eyes closing in satisfaction, “It’s official.  You’re perfect.  You make good coffee.”

“That was all it took?” he  blinks at her over the rim of his coffee cup, his dark blue eyes almost comically rounded with surprise at her words, another granola bar in his grip.

“You fail to understand my addiction to caffeine”, setting her cup down, Melissa tears her granola bar open, grinning up at him as she starts to eat her granola bar.

“Just making good coffee makes me perfect?” he looks over at her in confusion, opening his granola bar, “I clean my guns on the kitchen table.  It’s made every woman I’ve ever known mad.”

“So did my Dad.  So did both of my brothers, one still does.  I paint my toes on my kitchen table”, Melissa shrugs at his question, easing to sit on a stood at the kitchen island.

“I work late.  I work all the time, tracking down criminals.  I don’t sleep a lot.  I drink too much.  I buy stuff on Home Shopping Network when I can’t sleep, I read too much,” he ticks the list of things off of his fingers, leaning into the kitchen island, across the butcher block from him, listing things he had heard from various girls that had come and gone in his life.  His gaze is guarded, expecting her to pull away at any moment, to cut bait and run, like so many people have. 

“I work all the time too, taking care of other people’s kids.  Some nights I don’t sleep either.  I eat too much chocolate.  I go shopping on Saturday mornings; I own more pairs of shoes than anyone should.  I match my panties to my shirt, and I can’t pee with an audience”, Melissa ticks her own list of things off on her fingers at Tim, looking up at him over her fingers, although her gaze is less guarded than Tim, a faint flicker of hurt, an old wound that has healed but left a scar, shows in her gaze for a moment. 

At her words, Tim laughs, his guard slipping once more, remembering just a few minutes ago, when he was forced to sing a Disney song on his way out of his own bedroom, “So I should just shut up and let you say I’m perfect?”

“And you’re smart too”, she grins at him, her granola bar finished, and slides from the kitchen island, walking towards the front door, “You coming, or did I get out of bed for nothing??”

“I’m going to make you regret that”, finishing his quick breakfast in one final bite, Tim follows her, tugging his shirt on over his head. 

“Bring it marshal”, Melissa stretches in his front yard, warming up her muscles, folding herself nearly in half as she stretches her legs out, arms reaching for the ground.

“How the hell do you do that?” His arms reach above his head as he stretches, one shoulder popping, his gaze following Melissa’s svelte form as she stretches, a grin tilting his lips.

“Ten years of ballet”, Melissa straightens, raising her arms above her head and stretching them, while bouncing on her feet.  Her movements emphasize the curves of her body, and Tim’s eyes trace upwards to her breasts, a wicked grin curling his lips as he stares at her.

“I thought ballerinas were flat-chested”, Tim finishes stretching, and starts to jog down the driveway, breathing in deep breaths of the cool morning air.

“I was… I was what you’d call a late bloomer”, Melissa shoots past him, picking a faster stride than he had, and she playfully blows a kiss over her shoulder at him, “I thought rangers led the way?”

“You’re gonna pay for that”, his pride unable to let her just beat him; he starts to run faster, catching up to her and then matching her rhythm. 

Over half an hour passed before Tim proved his words true, and Melissa could take no more.  Panting for breath, sweat dripping into her bright gaze, she dropped to a walk, and then stopped, bending in half and propping her hands on her knees.  The pace she had set, breezing past him, had only been the beginning, and her pride had been unwilling to ask Tim to slow down.  She had said nothing, ignoring the pleas from her body to stop, until it was either stop or fall down, and stopping was less bruising to her ego than falling flat on her face.  Ignoring the runner’s mantra of breathing slow and deep, she heaves each breath, fighting the urge to throw up all over her shoes until it passes, and still, she does not move. 

Tim heard her footsteps falter, and then stop, and he turned, slowing to a walk and making his way back to Melissa.  He was breathing heavily, but not panting, and he was not dripping sweat like Melissa was.  The grin was triumphant and masculine as he looked down at her “Is this where I get to say I told you so??”

For an answer, Melissa flips one hand up, her middle finger extended in a salute of her own, while she glares at him, unable to speak yet.  But the look in her eyes spoke volumes, she was refusing to back down, there was still a hot challenge in her eyes even as she was forced to admit he had outrun her.

Laughing, Tim fishes his keys out of his pocket, and tosses them to her, turning back to the sidewalk, and starting his run again, “Go let yourself in, I’m gonna stay out a bit longer.”

“This is not defeat marshal”, finally Melissa catches her breath enough to speak, straightening and turning back towards his house, her dark hair hanging limply down her back, “I’m just taking a break.”

“Keep telling yourself that”, he yells back over his shoulder as he breaks into a run once more, grinning.  Tim had to admit he was impressed with Melissa; she had kept pace with him longer than he thought she would.  No whining, no pouting, she just kept going, even though he kept slowly speeding up.  Finally she had given up, but he admired the fight he saw in her even as she did so, and his grin stays with him through his run, “She’s perfect.”

Slower than she had started, Melissa jogs back to the house, unwilling to just admit that he had beat her at something, and knowing from experience that she won’t be able to walk if she skips cooling down.  Letting herself into the house, she kicks her shoes off just inside the front door, leaning against the wall as she peels her socks off as well, “He won the battle.  He’s not winning the war.”

 She pauses in his living room, the temptation to look over his collection of books, three walls of built-in shelving full, nearly overwhelming her.  But her need to shower is stronger, and she goes back to Tim’s bedroom, she peels her sweaty clothes off, taking a moment to fold them, and leaving them in a pile underneath the chair her bag is sitting in, even as tired as she was her clean-streak showing.

In a few minutes, just as Tim walks in the door, she emerges from the bathroom, showered, her long hair still damp, and combed back down over her back.  She’s dressed in a pair of jeans that ride low on her hips, the shirt she wears, and the tank top underneath it riding high enough that peeks of the tattoo on her hip are visible, and a pair of rainbow striped Converse are on her feet. 

He takes the sight of her in, his eyes tracking over the curves revealed by her clothes, as he kicks his shoes off, walking in socked feet towards his bedroom as he tugs his sweaty shirt off, “Dammit Melissa.”

“What?" her brow is furrowed in confusion as she looks up at him, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee.  Her t-shirt is decorated with a silk screened Care Bear, the one with a red heart on its’ round belly, and standing in his kitchen she looks years younger than she really is, watching him with bewilderment in her gaze.

“You look like a high-schooler.  Makes me feel like a pedophile”, he grins at her says it, walking towards the bedroom, carrying his shirt and sweaty socks.

“You would prefer it if I was six feet tall and looked like an ogre??  I saved you hot water by the way”, she calls after him, pouring him a fresh cup as well, leaving it on the kitchen island, as she makes her way to the living room.  The overstuffed chair that had sat in last night sits beside a wide bank of windows; a long couch faces a huge tv, with a dvd player, flanked by speakers, and a few shelves of movies.  All of it is spotless, wires tucked neatly and hidden, the movies organized alphabetically.  The only disorder in the room is the blanket from last night, dropped to the floor as he had flipped her over his shoulder, and she stops to pick it up, shaking it out, folding it and putting it on the chair, before she eases onto the couch, turned so she can look out the windows, but careful to keep her shoes off the cushions. 

The sun is just cresting the tops of the trees, streaks of bright yellow filtering through the orange and red and pinks of sunrise, and she sighs, leaning against the arm of the couch, and taking the sight in.  She sleeps through the sunrise on the weekends, and during the week she is always busy getting ready for work, rarely does she take time to just watch the sun come up, chasing away the night, and turning the sky into a rainbow of colors.

When Tim emerges from the shower a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and socked feet, he catches sight of Melissa sitting on the couch, absorbed in the sunrise.  The light starts to play off her cheekbones, landing on her smooth skin, making the highlights in her dark hair sparkle red in the light, and he leans against the bookcases in the living room, simply watching her.  As he watches, she takes a deep breath, holding it and then letting it go slowly, relaxing into the couch, and finally he moves to join her, sitting on the edge of the couch by her hip, “No, I would not prefer it if you were six feet tall and looked like an ogre.  Sunrise that interesting??”

“I never get to see it,” Melissa scoots towards the back of the couch, giving him more room to sit, leaning into Tim as he slides an arm behind her back, “I’m always busy doing something.  Or sleeping.  But… wow.”

“This is why I bought the house.  I could sleep anywhere, I had this apartment that was all I really needed, and this house is too big for just me.  But I saw this one day, and… I signed the paperwork on it the next day”, he eases back against the arm of the couch, his dark blue eyes taking in the sunrise, and then looking over at Melissa.

“I would sit here every morning just for this.  I forgot, there’s a fresh cup of coffee on the island”, Melissa looks up at him, remembering the coffee she had left for him, and catches him staring at her.  A blush forms on her cheeks, darkening her freckles, and she tucks her hair behind one ear, “What??”

Tim says nothing, his free hand rising to cup her cheek, and tilt her chin up towards him.  She shifts, meeting him halfway, her lips pressing gently to his.  There is no heat, although it could quickly grow to that, but it is the gentle, tender kiss that Tim had planned on for a first kiss.  His hands slid into her hair, and then run through it, before he breaks the kiss, “If we’re going to get food, we need to do it now.”

Melissa nods, looking up at him, the sunlight shooting red and gold highlights through his hair, his dark blue and gray eyes open and unguarded in the moment, and for an instant she is struck by the urge to pull him to her once more.  She nods, taking his hand when he offers it to her, and sliding from the couch, letting him pull her after him towards the door. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for all the reviews! It will be a bit longer between updates this time, my week will be busy :)**

Tim had groceries in his house.  Not just the condiments that went with take-out, but food for dinner, and breakfast in the morning; and the mind boggling list of ingredients for the brownies he asked for.  It should feel weird, having groceries, having Melissa here, having her shoes near the door, and a damp towel in his bathroom that smelled like her shampoo.  Somehow the weirdness that he had expected was not there, she was fitting into his world easily, he liked running with her, he liked arguing with her in the middle of the grocery store over what beer went well with steak; he liked watching her order a burger too big for her to eat, and then give half to him, but not before picking the bacon off.  He liked her laugh, he liked her blush, and he was certain he loved the way her heartbeat thrummed against his ear in the middle of the night. 

Melissa was not pressuring him, did not expect to be entertained or catered to, after they had put groceries away, and had lunch; she had slipped into his living room.  Coming back from the spare bedroom he had turned into an office, carrying his rifle case and two hand-guns, he found her still in front of the book case.  Quietly he leaned against the wall, watching her, his dark blue gray eyes taking her in.  One slim hand ran down the spines of books, pausing on ones he knew she had mentioned reading, tracing the title with gentle fingers.  It was the same touch she used on him, feather light he realized, and it had the power to melt him into her and relax him. 

Setting his rifle case and guns on the dining room table, he slipped back into the living room.  Melissa watched him out of the corner of her eyes, tilting her head up to peek at him through a heavy forest of dark lashes, and out from under her bangs.   Coming to a stop beside her, he reached over the top of her head, pulling a book down from a shelf, and held it out to her, using his free hand to sift through her hair, pulling it back from her face. 

“Start with this one.  It’s part of a series”, for a moment Tim is lost in doing nothing but play with her hair, curling the dark strands around his calloused fingers and then letting them slip through, only to do it again.

Melissa takes the book, turning and leaning against him, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his shoulder, well muscled and just broad enough for her to lean against, “Feel free to do that all day.”

“Play with your hair?” Tim continues to do just that, wrapping his free arm around her back, and pulling her fully against him, “Didn’t I do this half the night??”

“You got something more important to do Deputy Marshal?” she leans back enough to look up at him, lifting an eyebrow in challenge, a smirk playing around her lush lips, “You’re the one that invited me here.”

“Clean my rifle… but I can stand here and play with your hair all day.  But only if you’re sweet to me”, he grins at her, sliding his hands through her hair one more time, and then cupping her face in his hands, dropping a feather light kiss on her forehead, “I feel like I should take you out to dinner or something.  Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do??”

“We bought food for dinner.  And you don’t have to impress me Tim.  Remember what I told you, that it was you that I was here for?” Melissa’s free hand curls around his wrist, her fingers covering the cross-hairs he has tattooed on his wrist as she looks up at him, nodding towards the kitchen, where she has spread out the ingredients for brownies over the kitchen island.

Tim nods, tugging her back to him and propping his cheek on top of her head, thankful she is short enough that he can do that, but he still sasses her, smirking as he does, “You’re being all sweet to me just to get in my pants.”

“I didn’t have to work that hard the first time.  Or the second.  That’s gonna change now?” Melissa giggles at Tim’s words, burying her face in his shirt as a hot blush steals over her cheeks. 

“Not really.  You were the one that played hard to get”, one hand slides around Melissa’s wrist, and Tim tugs her after him to the dining room, wanting her nearby as he goes about his weekly habit of cleaning his rifle and guns.

The book he gave her is forgotten, set down on the wide wood table top, when Tim opens the case and takes the rifle out.  He handles the gun gently, carefully, with the sort of reverence due a religious icon, and Melissa smiles at his actions, but her gaze goes back to the rifle.  Long used to the routine he has, he slouches comfortably in his chair, and the looks up to find Melissa avidly watching him, and he lifts a brow at her in question, continuing his work, “That interesting?”

“I’ve never seen one up close.  My dad cleaned the gun we had the house, and I’ve been around the boys when they had theirs, but never a rifle.  And never one like that”, Melissa nods towards the rifle, as Tim rapidly pulls it apart, his hands moving with an ease that speaks to how often he has done that, her light cerulean gaze stays on his hands, transfixed by his work.

“Did you sit with him when he would do this??” Tim had reached a part that required his attention, and he looked down at his rifle as he worked, grinning at Melissa’s interest, genuine interest, in his rifle.  Of all the things he knew she liked, strawberry milkshakes, books, Mickey Mouse, bacon cheeseburgers with extra bacon, chocolate, hot cinnamon candy, and him; he had not thought she would be this curious, this interested, in his rifle.

“Yeah.  He taught me how to strip and clean the gun he had.  Mikey and Mason taught me how to do theirs later on”, her eyes take in his movements intently, the heavy layers of dark chocolate hair around her face falling into her bright blue gaze and across her cheekbones as she watches him.

“You know how to strip and clean a gun?” he pauses, looking up from his rifle, disbelief evident in his steely blue gaze, his fingers paused over their work.  Melissa hides a lot more than a bookworm behind her china-bright gaze, and he reaches for the smaller of the two Glocks, sliding it over until it sits in front of her, and then looks up at her, gesturing to it, “Prove it.”

“Why wouldn’t I know how to strip and clean a gun??” she pushes the book he gave her further away as he slides the gun to her, picking it up, automatically unloading the magazine, and then checking for a bullet in the chamber.  Another challenge, gleams in his eyes as he looks over at her, and she meets his gaze while she removes the slide from the receiver, “Cause I’m a girl??”

“No.  Cause you’re you”, his expression softens a bit as he watches her, a growing admiration evident in his gaze as he watches hers, his hands resting atop his partially disassembled rifle. 

It has been since before she moved to Lexington that she has done this; she frowns in concentration for a moment, and then she sets about stripping the gun, laying each part on the table in a neat arrangement, the same arrangement taught soldiers in basic.  It takes her longer than it takes either of her brothers or Tim, she is methodical, and not as comfortable doing this as the men in her life are, but after a few minutes, the gun is stripped down, and she reaches for the cleaning kit.

Still Tim did not move, watching as she cleaned the pieces, slower than he did, but still, she was proving him wrong.  While she works, her dark hair falls over her eyes and across her cheekbones, but Tim can see the concentrated frown that furrows her brow.  Once Melissa is done cleaning, she starts to put the gun back together, going about her work with the same careful focus that she had pulled it apart.

Finally satisfied with her work, she looks up at him out of the corner of her eyes, grinning triumphantly at him, as she put the last pieces of the gun back into place, “What does being me have to do with it??”

His dark blue gaze has grown smoky and dark, gleaming with want, as she worked, the way she has chewed on her lower lip while she concentrated.  Sitting at his dining room table, she has been happily taking apart and cleaning a gun for him; not asking to go somewhere, not wanting to be entertained, or asking him to talk, to answer questions he still had no answers for.  Tim moves, standing up from his chair, kicking it backwards with one foot, as Melissa wipes her hands clean on a towel, and he grabs her by the wrist, hauling her out of her chair, before she has time to question him.

His calloused palms cradle her cheeks, holding her face in his hands, and the scent of him, shampoo and soap and clean clothes, and gun oil, leaves Melissa slightly dizzy.  Her lips meet his as she rises onto her toes, slim fingers curling into his shoulders, balling his shirt in her hands.  His lips are insistent, and hers part easily, her tongue rubbing against his, and then withdrawing, and then rubbing again, in a flirtatious rhythm that has Tim murmuring a protest. 

The silence, hot and heavy with want and need, is shattered by Tim’s phone, ringing and vibrating on the island in the kitchen.  While he does not pull away to answer it, he does break the kiss, leaning his forehead against Melissa, and sighing in irritation.  As soon as the ringing stops, it starts again, and cursing, Tim stalks into the kitchen, snatching the phone off the island, and answering it, “Did you shoot someone??”

“I can only call you if I shoot someone?” the grin on Raylan’s voice can nearly be heard over the phone.

“You drunk??  Call a taxi”, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, Tim leans against the island, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I’m not drunk either.  Christ, can’t I just call and ask how disastrous your date went last night?” Raylan is still smirking, waiting for his answer.

“Date???  Who said anything about a date?” Tim heaves a sigh, but grins at the same time, seeing Melissa peek into the kitchen. As soon as he unfolds his arms, she slips into the kitchen, and then leans against his side, propping her head on his shoulder. He tilts the phone further, letting her listen in, and she has to cover her mouth with one hand to keep from giggling.

“Don’t play dumb with me Deputy Marshal Gutterson.  You left yesterday with Melissa.  I just assumed you guys went out on a date.  And since we’re talking about you, it probably went badly”, the first hints of impatience are evident in Raylan’s words.

“Melissa?  You mean that short girl from CAPS?  With the dark hair??  And those big blue eyes.  And that ass??  She’s still here”, Tim answers Raylan with enough information to leave Melissa scarlet to the tips of her ears, grinning arrogantly down at her, running one hand up and down her back as he talks.

“What??” it takes a few moments for Raylan to answer, the disbelief in his voice evident to both Tim and Melissa.

“Hi Raylan.  Are you bored or something??  I’ve got some single friends if you need something to do on a Saturday”, although she blushes, Melissa leans up to speak into the phone, her words dripping with southern charm and sweetness. 

“Melissa?  You’re there??  You stayed the night?  I mean.. wait.. what did you do??” Raylan trips over his words, earning him a giggle from Melissa.

“You must have flunked biology.  I’m sure you can figure it out on your own”, running his fingers through Melissa’s hair, Tim grins at her, his shoulders shaking from the effort it takes him to keep from laughing.

“I can’t believe you didn’t screw it all up.  Rachel, shut up, I know I owe you $20 now,” Raylan cups the phone, not enough to keep Tim and Melissa from hearing his words, although neither can make out Rachel’s response.

“Given your track record with women, I don’t know if I’d be making bets about how I do on a date.” Tim’s eyes are closed as he speaks; Melissa is pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck, tiny little soft kisses, leaving a tingling trail down his skin.

“What is that supposed to mean?” the older marshal huffs in annoyance, rustling in the background giving him away as he hands over the bet money, and in the background they can hear Rachel laughing.

 “You know shit about women”, even with his eyes closed, Tim can find the hem on Melissa’s shirt, and starts to tug it up, keeping the phone carefully balanced between his shoulder and his ear.

“You know less.” Raylan heaves an irritated sigh at the dig.

“Bye Raylan.” Tim moves, letting the phone slide from his shoulder, and grabbing it with a free hand, as Melissa’s shirt slides up over her head, leaving her in a white tank top and jeans. 

“Wait wait.. Art is having everyone over tomorrow.  Did you forget?”

“Uhhhh…” heaving a sigh, Tim slides the phone back up to his ear, holding it with one hand.

“That’s a yes.  You promised you’d go.  Bring Melissa.” Raylan sighs, shaking his head as he slides from the booth in the diner, dropping a few bills on the table for a tip, having drug Rachel out for lunch, mostly to find out what she knew about Tim and Melissa.

“What if we have plans?” his calloused fingers play with the strap of Melissa’s tank top, sliding it down her arm, and then back up, trailing over her smooth skin, dotted with a few freckles.  Suddenly Tim is reminded that he wanted to count them all, and he huffs impatiently into the phone, wanting Raylan to hurry up.

“Tim, bring Melissa.  And since you can hear this, Melissa, you’re coming to Art’s tomorrow.  If Tim shows up without you, I’ll come get you.” Raylan is smirking as he speaks into the phone, imagining the blush Melissa must be wearing.

“What if neither of us show up??” Melissa’s voice is slightly muffled, her lips pressed to Tim’s neck as she speaks, her fingers sliding the buckle of his belt open, and then going for the button on his jeans. 

“I will come get both of you.”

“What if we’re busy?” Tim asks the question, his hand trails down her back and then back up, running his calloused fingers over the back of her neck.

“Busy doing what??  Never mind.  I passed biology with an A.” the older marshal sighs into the phone, rolling his eyes upward.

“Smart man.  Bye Raylan”, Tim dugs the strap of Melissa’s tank top down, leaving it there, his fingers running up through her hair as he leans forward to press a kiss to her shoulder.

“You know Melissa, I didn’t figure you to be the type to spend the night with a man after the first date.”

“I just hadn’t found the right man to spend the night with.  Bye Raylan.” Melissa cannot hide the catch in her voice as Tim kisses her shoulder, chills breaking out across her skin, and she blushes, knowing Raylan probably suspects what they have been doing while on the phone with him.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Tim clicks the end button on the phone, dropping it back onto the kitchen island.  His jeans hanging loosely from his hips, he grabs Melissa by the hand, walking towards his bedroom, “You know what I said about slowing down??”

“Something about how you were going to slow down, the next time” Melissa follows him, her eyes heavy-lidded with want and desire.

“Yeah, that.  I’m gonna do it this time.” He tugs her past the living room, and down the hallway, walking silently into his bedroom, and pulling her after him.  As soon as she steps into his bedroom, he reaches for her, tugging her tank top off of her, and tossing it towards a hamper, half full of dirty clothes.  Her white bra with a red ribbon trimming it, is next, and then Tim is shoving her jeans and panties, matching her bra, down her long legs, “You matched again.”

“I always match.  I told you that,” Melissa shivers, goose bumps breaking on across her creamy skin as she reaches for his shirt, tugging it off.  She does not bother with tossing it towards the hamper, and it falls crumpled atop her jeans.  In the day, with the early afternoon light filtering golden in through the curtains, she has time to look at him, her fingers tracing over a couple scars, a bruise that is blooming on his muscled arm, combing through the hair on his equally muscled chest, before curling around the dog tags on his neck.  Her fingers trace over the piece of metal, before she curls her fingers around them, and looks up at him through a tangle of dark hair and long lashes.

“I can take it off”, he had barely moved, his jeans clinging to his hips, his calloused palms resting on the small of her waist, long fingers spanning her back, as she had slide her hands over him, running over a sore bruise with a feather light touch.  He knew the history those tags would represent to Melissa, knew the pain and anguish they would represent, and he is possessed by an urge to spare her that, to shield Melissa from her feelings.

Her dark hair falls further across her face as she shakes her head no, rising up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, an innocent kiss, considering she is naked, and he is nearly so, in the quiet of his bedroom, “No, they’re still a part of you, they always will be.  You can’t take them off and not be a Ranger.”

The look in her eyes, accepting of what he was, and is, mixed with the pain of a grief only partially buried, arrows to the places in Tim’s heart and mind that he keeps tightly closed, locked away.  He says nothing for long moments, merely looking at her, not trusting himself to say the wrong thing, some smart ass remark.  Finally he nods at her words, and turns, walking towards the bed, ignoring the jeans that hang on his hips, his fingers curled around her waist and tugging her after him. 

The comforter has been kicked to the foot of the bed, and Tim shoves the sheet down as well, before turning, and curling his arm around Melissa’s waist, bringing her to him.  He leans his forehead against hers, pausing for a moment, letting the warmth from her naked body pressed against his seep into him, before he moves, leaning her backwards, guiding her to the bed with one arm around her waist, the other hand rising to pull her hair up from her back, letting it spill over the pillow she lands on.

Remembering his words from earlier in the night, Melissa follows his lead, her fingers sliding through his hair as soon as she lands on the bed, noticing the red and gold glimmers as sunlight sifts through his hair.  From his hair her fingers run down his face, tracing over his eyebrows, across his cheekbones, and down his jaw line, coasting to his shoulders.  Tim studies her with a serious expression, close to the one he wears when working, and his calloused fingers gently skate over her cheek bones, rubbing with the barest of touches across the freckles that are lightly spattered across her cheekbones, and the top of her nose. 

From her face his gaze drifts down to her shoulders, where more freckles dot her porcelain smooth skin, his fingers following them, and he makes good on his fantasy, counting each one, his hands tracing down her arms, a smile curving his mouth when she flinches as his fingers run across the inside of her elbows, “Ticklish?”

“It shows??” Melissa grins, she had been doing her own studying, taking in the way his eyes crinkled when he was concentrating on her freckles, the curve of his lips, the muscles that filled his shoulders out, that gave his biceps bulk, that corded down to his wrists, and his hands. The same hands that were skilled with any type of gun, that probably knew more ways to kill a man than she could come up with, that had been shaped, along with all of Tim, into a lethal weapon of war, were delicate as they ran over each freckle in turn, and it sent chills up her spine.

“Yeah, that flinch kinda gave it away.” Just a touch of the smart ass in him shows as he picks one arm up, turning her wrist over, and examining the tattoo inked there, those delicate little daises linked by a dark green vine.  His lips brush against the tattoo, pressing gently into the thin skin of her wrist, feeling her heart racing against his lips, and a small smile tilts the corner of his lips, when he feels her heart race harder, hammering against his lips.  Lifting his head, he turns her hand back over, studying her hand, the palm crisscrossed by lines, her fingers, not quite long enough to span an octave on a piano, tipped with short nailed that are painted a light shade of pink. 

He studies her other hand, noticing the callous on one finger, where she rests a pen when she writes, his fingers tracing back up her arm, stopping to tickle the inside of her elbow, grinning when she squeaks in protest, squirming on the bed.  His lips follow her arm, pressing kisses until he is dropping kisses over the freckles on her shoulders, and then her collarbone, and the tender spot in the middle, where her pulse visibly throbs to his sharp gaze, “Wear sunscreen when you go out.  You’re gonna burn.”

“I do”, she shivers, squirming slightly on the bed, his path of kisses, small and almost delicate against her skin, had left a path of fire in their wake, that warms her at the same time it strokes the fires of her want.  That golden heat was pooling in her again, sending chills down her spine at the same time it made her restless, made her shift her legs on the bed. 

Tim says nothing, his lips busy following his fingers, slipping over the curves of her breasts, cupping one in each hand, grinning in masculine satisfaction as the soft curves just slightly over flow his hands, his lips pressing kisses into the tender flesh, before finally closing over one taut nipple.  He sucks gently, until her back bows off the bed; daringly he rakes his teeth gently against her tender skin, and is rewarded with a whimper.  Shifting his weight, he moves to her other breast, giving it the same tender treatment, before his teeth once more sink into her skin, with just enough of an edge to have Melissa sucking in a breath.  As his lips leave her nipple, he brushes the underside of her breasts with kisses, moving down her stomach, chuckling with laughter when she giggles, pushing his head away as he nips at her navel. 

“Stop it… that tickles”, she giggles, trying to squirm away from him, only to be pinned to the bed by one strong hand, pressing down on her shoulder, and her laughter dies in her throat as his fingers leave her shoulder, slide down her arm, and curl around her own fingers.

Slowly Tim’s warm mouth traces over her hip bone, over the tattoo there, and then down one thigh, taking a few bites of her skin that has her giggling again, and he repeats the process back up her other thigh, until Melissa is shrieking and laughing, trying to get out from under his hands.  Even as she is giggling, he sucks the tender skin between her hip and navel into mouth, until a mark dominates the skin, turning red, and then deepening towards purple.  Out of respect for her, for the work she puts into her job, and unwilling to turn her into a toy; there were not marks on her skin, but his drive to mark her, to leave a visible reminder of himself, is strong enough that he gives in, but leaves it in a spot hidden from view.

Melissa rises up onto one elbow as Tim’s lips press a gentler kiss into the mark, looking up at her with a smirk, his dark steel blue eyes gleaming with wickedness, “Oops??”

“Payback’s a bitch, just remember that deputy marshal”, she grins, leaning back onto the pillows, her eyes drifting shut, only to fly open as he drops a kiss high on the inside of her thigh, his shoulders moving between them.  One hand slips to his hair, the other clenching around his fingers, her hips arching in anticipation.  Every move, every brush of his fingers against her skin, every gentle kiss, every nip of his teeth, had set her on fire, and her legs shift impatiently on the bed, her toes curling and uncurling in the sheets.

The hand in his hair tightens as he moves, dropping kisses on her other thigh, pulling just enough to give him chills, and his teeth sink into the skin of her thigh, biting his way up higher, pushing her legs apart further, until one slim thigh rests on his shoulder.  Watching her, seeing her reactions, when she would flinch, when she would whimper, when her back would arch or her fingers curl against the sheets, has his blood roaring.  With the training of a sniper, he has learned her body, counted her freckles, and now, with her thigh draped over his back, her foot resting on his back, he is growing impatient.  Pulse thundering, he leans down, dropping a sucking kiss just below her belly button, lifting his dark blue gaze, hooded and hot, up to her face. 

Melissa tugs on his hair again, digging the pink-painted nails of her free hand into his shoulder, and pulling, her legs lifting to curl around his waist when he finally moves, sliding up her body.  The friction of his body against hers, has them both moaning, her legs wrapping around his waist, and pulling him to her, her fingers roaming restlessly over his back.  His lips meet hers, and he sucks on her lower lip, nipping at it gently, before sliding his tongue into her mouth, hers meeting his and rubbing in a seductive rhythm.  Lost in the kiss, his hips grind against her, rubbing his erection against her wet folds, and Melissa moans, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, raking down his skin, one hand grasping his dog tags, and curling around them.

“Wait… wait..” Tim gasps for breath, pulling away from Melissa.  In a haze of want, he reaches for the drawer on his nightstand, snatching a condom from the drawer, and tearing the packet open.  For a moment he pulls away from Melissa, taking the time to slide the condom down his length, his fingers reaching for her, parting the wet folds and sliding within them.  Tim groans, she’s already slick, already ready for him, and his hands curl around hers, lifting her arms towards the headboard, until she is stretched out beneath him, her back arched, her legs tightening around his waist.

What had started out as slow, taking his time, had burned out of control again, and for a moment, Tim hovers, looking down at Melissa, who stares back up at him.  The curtains in his bedroom let light in that cascades over them, turning Tim golden and red, making Melissa’s eyes blaze bright blue, and Tim is torn between what he wants, the promise of sweet pleasure in Melissa, and the almost hypnotic moment spinning around them.  Melissa finally moves, her head arching back, revealing the length of her neck, leaving herself vulnerable, and Tim cannot resist dropping a kiss along the length of her throat, working his way down to her collarbone, and the tender spot at the base of her throat.  As he lips graze that spot, finally he moves, sliding into her with one slow sure thrust, letting go of her hands, and burying his in her hair, one sliding down to her neck, and then back up through her hair.

Once more, Tim is caught up in pushing Melissa to the crest of her orgasm, and over it, setting a heavy, intense, rhythm, listening for the catch in her breath, the whimper that draws out into a moan.  Her fingers moving restlessly over his back leave trails of fire on his skin, the scratch of her nails bring an edge to his pleasure, and his hands tighten in her hair, bringing her head back, until he can look into her eyes.  Her bright blue gaze is hazy, half-lidded, lost in pleasure, and he stops, buried inside of her, but not moving.

Melissa whimpers in protest, her fingers shifting on his shoulders, raking down his back again, her accent heavier now, “Why… why didja stop?”

That accent rolls down his spine like honey, and Tim shudders, gritting his teeth against the urge to move once more, “Not until you look at me.  Look at me.  At.  Me.”

His tone turned commanding, authoritative, and Melissa lifted her gaze to his, her eyes slightly wide, her legs shifting against his waist restlessly.  Only when her gaze is locked on his darker one does he move again, the rhythm harder now, speeding up, and Melissa is suddenly right on the edge, her eyes drifting shut once more.  Tim does not, cannot stop now, but he cradles her head in his palms, shaking his head no at her, “No.  Look at me.   I want you to look at me.”

Her eyes lift again, a blush darkening her cheeks.  Despite her arousal, despite her need for him, her need for that sweet, jarring release that will send her world spinning, she blushes, more vulnerable with him now that she has ever been in her life.  At her blush, he grins, dropping a kiss on her nose, his lips drifting down her lips for a second, before he lifts his head, looking back into her gaze.  Staring at him, her cheeks blushing now with arousal, Melissa’s teeth dig into her lip, and she shifts on the bed, her body milking his, sending chills down Tim’s spine. 

A few more thrusts, and Melissa’s world starts to spin, her body tightening around Tim’s, and he shifts, leaning on one elbow, and cradling her cheek in his palm, dropping his head until they are nearly nose to nose, “C’mon… look at me.  Look at me…. Melissa…”

She moans, arching up into his thrust when he buries himself in her one final time, her fingers digging into his spine, his gaze locked onto his when everything grows too bright, lightening shooting down her spine, her toes curling, and legs tightening around his waist.  His arms are shaking from the effort to keep himself from dropping into his face into her shoulder, his hips grinding against her own, as he explodes, everything growing bright around him, the world feeling like it has shifted off its axis, her gaze the only thing seeming to keep him grounded. 

Only when the last of the fire passes from him does he move, pushing his face into her shoulder, burying his face in her dark hair and panting, “Wow…”

Melissa nods, shuddering with an aftershock, her legs still tightly curled around his waist, her fingers now lazily sliding up and down his back.  Tim lifts his head, planting tiny, gentle kisses over her face, and then down her throat, before slowly pushing away from her, shivering as he slides from her body.  Shakily he walks towards the bathroom, tossing the condom in the trash, and then just as shakily he walks back to the bed.

He pauses halfway across the bedroom, Melissa has rolled to her side, and the sunlight pours over her, giving her creamy skin a glow, weaving highlights of fire through her dark hair, making her pale skin seem to glow, and he stops, awed by the woman relaxing in his bed, wondering how she got there for a moment.  Through her lashes, Melissa sees him walk back to the bed, and lifts one hand, reaching for him, tugging him to the bed, and then propping her head up on his chest, her fingers toying with his dog tag as he settles onto the bed.  One of his calloused hands sifts through her hair, the only runs up and down her back, running over her smooth skin. 

“My toes are tingling again, “she grins against his chest, moving just enough to look up at him.

“Must be doing something wrong,” he smirks down at her, all arrogant pride and relaxed against the bed, shifting more of her onto his chest, wanting to feel her warm, smooth skin against his, and heaving a sigh of contentment when she moves, draping her body further over his.

“Why do you say that?” Melissa blinks up at him, lifting her head until she can look at him, frowning in confusion.

“My whole body tingles.  And you, just your toes.  Guess I have to work harder next time”, he smirks at her, leaning up to drop a kiss on her nose.  The warmth, the post-sex bliss, the feel of her warm body against his all work against him, and Tim yawns, wrapping his arms around her, and snuggling further into the bed.

“Still haven’t gotten the memo on next time”, floating as high in paradise as Melissa thought she would ever get, she cannot resist sassing him a little bit, giggling as she does it.

“I thought you packing a bag, and sleeping in my bed was the memo?  Or did you put those lacy panties on yesterday for just you?” he still smirks, his eyes falling shut while he tangles her legs with his.

“You never said I was coming over for sex.  I said something about being hungry, and you told me to pack a bag.  Sex was never brought up” she manages to keep her tone innocent sounding, but she is giggling before she finishes, burying her face in his chest as she laughs.

“HmmMmmm… because after lunch we were just gonna hold hands and watch a movie,” he chuckles at her tone, breaking out into a laugh when Melissa snorts, “You snort when you laugh??”

“I do not.  I have no idea what you’re talking about”, she giggles harder, burying her face in his muscled chest, her face blazing with embarrassment.

“I’m going to remember this,” Tim grins, relaxing into the bed again, his laughter fading into a yawn. 

“That’s what I was afraid of”, her laughter trails off into a yawn of her own, and she presses her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.  Slow, steady, calm, much like the man, and she falls asleep listening to it thump against her ear. 

Tim falls asleep running his fingers through her hair, combing through it gently, and his eyes opened to mere slits, watching the light sparkle red and gold in her hair as it moves.  Draping one arm around her waist, and one over her back, holding her to him, he slips into sleep.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

The smell of chocolate was floating through the house, making its way out the back doors, both propped open, and out onto the deck.  Tim breaths deep, closing his eyes in anticipation, the promise of chocolate and cookie and candy all together is making his stomach rumble.  Before him the grill is hot, and he lays a couple steaks on it, smiling in satisfaction when it starts to hiss and crackle.  He may be all thumbs when it comes to baking, he was covered in flour and cocoa powder to prove it, he may not like cooking, but grilling, that was different.  In front of a grill, Tim was comfortable, the master of his world, just like when he was sitting behind the scope on his rifle. 

Melissa slips through the screen door, opening it with the curve of one hip, carrying the brownies, scorching hot from the oven, with a couple oven mitts, carefully sliding them onto the outdoor table.  As soon as she steps back, Tim slips up behind her, one arm curling around her waist, the other reaching for a fork, and digging into the brownies, ignoring her as she smacks at his arm.  Blowing on the fork full of brownies, he turns and walks back to the grill, leaning against the railing near it. 

“Will you bake these every time you come over?” after taking a bite of the brownies, Tim heaves a sign of contentment, his dark blue eyes falling half closed.

“Finally, your evil plan has been revealed”, unable to help herself, Melissa cuts off a small piece of brownie, nibbling on it as she walks to where he stands, “You bring me over here not to get into my pants, but for my baked goods.”

“Yeah, for the brownies.  And those cheesecake things you made for Rachel’s birthday”, he smirks at her, checking over dinner.  A streak of brownie batter stains his cheek, proof of his efforts in the kitchen, and he wipes at it haphazardly; she leans up, pressing her lips to his skin, kissing the chocolate mixture away, and his free arm wraps around her waist, pulling him to his side.

“Mmmm… chocolate flavored Tim”, Melissa leans on tip toe again, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw, before nipping at him, just the barest hint of teeth behind her kiss, her arms curling around his waist.

“We’re gonna burn dinner if you keep that up… and I’m hungry.  For food,” despite his words, Tim’s eyes drift closed, his fingers tightening on the curves of Melissa’s behind, squeezing it. 

“So am I.  You’re starving me”, she drops one last nipping kiss on his neck, before slipping from his arms, and walking for the door, “I’ll get the beers.”

“You’re perfect!” Tim yells over his shoulder, grinning like a teenager when he hears her laughing from inside the house.  Before Melissa is back, he pulls the steaks from the grill, loading them onto a plate and setting it on the patio table.  For the first time since he moved in, he is enjoying the patio furniture, an impulse buy late at night.

“Just because I brought you a beer??” she is laughing as she slips back through the doors, carrying two beers for each of them.  Sitting the extras on the table, she opens one for each of them with her shirt, and holds out one for him.

“And you bake.  Don’t forget that”, smirking at her, Tim waved a fork towards the pan of cooling brownies, before settling into his dinner.    Through dinner they talked about the newest movies coming out, the ones they wanted to see, critiqued the newest Avengers movie, and had a serious debate about the best fantasy writer, which they had agreed to disagree on.  He was done before Melissa was, and was picking at her plate when she pushed it towards him, waving her hand at it.

“If I eat anymore, I’m going to explode”, sighing, she slouched in her chair, propping her feet on his lap, taking a sip from her second beer.  Her gaze lifted upwards, the sky was darkening over her head, and the stars were starting to twinkle, entranced by them, she stares upwards, her eyes tracking over constellations she knew.

Tim finished her plate, watching her tilt her head back and look up the quickly darkening sky, and he lifted his own, “They’re that interesting??”

“I used to sit outside and watch the stars… and then I quit.” Melissa sighs, slouching further in her chair, “They’re so beautiful…”

“Why’d you quit doing it then?” Tim leans back in his chair, one hand resting atop her bare feet, tracing over the tattoo of hearts that decorates one, the other holding his beer, spinning the bottle idly on the table top.

At his words, she heaves a sigh, bringing her chin down until she meets his gaze again.  There is pain there, a pain great enough for her to change her habits.  Her teeth sink into her lower lip, chewing on it, bringing herself to say the words, “The closest thing I can call it is having my heart broken.  Really, I had my entire world up-ended and everything I knew shattered.”

“You don’t have to tell me”, knowing how painful it is to reveal long-kept secrets and scars, Tim shakes his head at her, his expression serious as he looks over at her.  A part of him wants to shield her again, to protect her from the past that has caused the pain that is shimmering back in her eyes.

“You asked.  I graduated college, perfect grades, got a good job, met a man.  And we dated, and he told me I was everything he had ever wanted,” no longer looking at the stars, Melissa picks at the label on her beer bottle.  She has no idea why she is revealing her past hurt to him, just like she did when she told him about her father, but the words spill out of her before she can hide them away, “He took my best friend ring shopping with him.  We were going on vacation, and I knew, I just knew he was going to pop the question.”

“I know this isn’t going to end well… you don’t have to-“ he goes quiet when she shakes her head again.  Needing to do something, jittery from listening to Melissa, and watching, as she explained what had happened, he concentrated on peeling the label off his beer in one perfect piece, his gaze dark and serious, his eyebrows knotting together as he frowned.

“The day before we were supposed to leave on vacation, this woman shows up on my door step.  Tells me she is his wife, has been since college, and that she had just found out about me.  They divorced, and I was subpoenaed during the divorce proceedings,” she heaves a sigh, raking a hand back through her hair, and turning her head up to the stars, fighting the urge to move around the table, and curl up in Tim’s lap, using him as safeguard from the memories, “I had my heart broke, had to testify about all of it in court, had all my secrets laid out there in the middle of a court room, as they argued over who should get the kids.  Half a year later, I heard about the job opening here at a conference, and took it.  I quit watching the stars then, I just couldn’t bring myself to wish on a star anymore.”

Listening to her talk, Tim can imagine what it was like for Melissa; private shy Melissa, to have to sit in a court room, and talk about her relationship with this guy, after he had broken her heart.  The idea of another man with Melissa aggravates him, but the idea of Melissa, heartbroken, and stripped of her privacy, driven from the home she had, hurts as much as it angers him.  He does not say anything for a few moments, until he moves abruptly, pushing up from the table, and shaking his head at her when she looks up at him, “That wasn’t your fault.  You should still wish on stars.  And stay here.”

He is across the deck, slipping in through the screen door, before Melissa can say anything.  She frowns in confusion, bringing her knees up to her chest, and propping her chin on them.  Believing the evening to be shot, she sighs, burying her face in her palm.

In the extra bedroom, the one that Tim uses for storage, are a couple of old blankets.  Worn and soft, and large enough to spread out on the grass in his backyard, never had he thought to do that, but suddenly he is driven by an urge to do that with Melissa.  Her very presence in his house, and around him, had eased the memories that plagued him, and suddenly he wants to do the same for her.  Tim has never been an idealist, he knows lying in the grass and looking up at the stars won’t banish the memories, or heal the hurt she is still coping with, but it does not stop him, or slow him down.  A few moments later, and he walks through the back door again, the blankets flipped over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing??” the squeak of the screen door had Melissa’s gaze swinging back to Tim, and she lifts a dark eyebrow up at him in question, although she does not move from her spot on the chair, her arms wrapped around her legs.

“Just stay there for a minute,” he walks down the wooden steps of his deck, taking them two at a time, and heads for the middle of the back yard.  A high wall of shrubbery shields the light from the neighbors, and the house on the other side of his is dark, giving them a better view of the stars.  He spreads one blanket out, and then another on top of it, and then heads back inside, grabbing the same throw blanket Melissa had wrapped around him in the middle of the night, and all the pillows from the couch. 

Melissa’s bright blue gaze darts between the back doors and the yard, the lights from the deck had kept her from seeing what he was doing, but as Tim comes through the back doors carrying the throw blanket and pillows, a soft smile curves her lips.  He reaches back through the door; flicks a switch, and the lights in the living room, and on the deck go dark.  A few steps take him to Melissa, and he reaches down for her, curling his calloused fingers around his, and tugging her to her feet, “C’mon…”

When her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can see the stars brighter overhead, more of them twinkling in the sky, and she takes her gaze off of them to follow him down the steps.  At the bottom of the steps she kicks her shoes off, curling her toes in the cool grass, her chin pointing upwards as she takes the stars in again.  He tugs on her wrist, suddenly impatient, eager like a schoolboy for her to see what he has done for her, and she follows, walking in the grass.  A smile lifts her mouth when she sees the blankets spread out across the grass, and Tim drops the pillows onto the blankets as well, shoving them around until he is satisfied with them.

“Like it??” he spreads his arms wide, his expression managing to be both hopeful and guarded at the same time, looking not so much the world-weary sniper, or the watchful marshal, but like the man he was underneath all of that. 

“It’s perfect.  Much better than going out”, she smiles at him, rising on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.  Her arms wrap around his neck, and he responds by wrapping his arms, corded with muscle, around her waist, tipping his head back to look up to at the stars as she does.

“I’ve got books on astronomy; I read them all when I first got out”, he lifts one hand towards the sky, pointing at a constellation that reaches across the sky, “That’s Draco.”

“That’s Cepheus”, Melissa points to another constellation, and then to one more, smiling as she sees it, “And that’s Orion.  The hunter.”

Tim nods, taking a step back onto the blanket, and then another, tugging Melissa after him.  He stretches out on his back on the blanket, and once he’s comfortable, he reaches for her wrist, tugging her down towards him, “You must have a couple of the same books.”

“Probably… Amazon is a dangerous place at 3 in the morning,” she grins, stretching out beside him, her head propped up on his shoulder, she leans up enough to tug her hair out from beneath her, and it spills in a waterfall over his arm, the scent of her perfume floating to him.

 “It’s really dangerous at 4 in the morning when you’re drunk,” Tim buries his face in her hair, breathing deep for a moment, before he lifts his gaze back to the stars.

Melissa giggles, her shoulders shaking with her laughter, “I bet.  How bad was the bill??”

“It was ugly.  I somehow thought that nerf water guns and alcohol would go well together, so I ordered the guns.  Worst drunk idea I’ve had in a long time”, Tim has to laugh at the idea, his eyes going back up to the stars.

“You thought what?” this time, there is no hiding the snort as Melissa laughs harder, covering her face with her hands as she laughs.

“It’s not that funny”, as he is laughing with her, his fingers start searching for the sensitive spots on her ribs, tickling them with one hand, while holding her pressed to him with the other.  Her shrieks of laughter split the dark night, and she starts to squirm away, only to be tugged back into place by Tim, rolling until he is pinning her down, and tickling her mercilessly. 

“Stop stop stop!!” she squeals and giggles, rolling to her back and finally scrambling out from beneath him, holding her sides as she scoots away from him.

Tim lets her go; leaning back on his hands and smirking at her as she scoots back against the pillows spread out over the blanket, “Teach you to sass me.” 

Melissa sticks her tongue out at him in return, before stretching out against the pillows and looking up at the stars again, “I’m always going to sass you.  Which constellation is your favorite?”

“My favorite??” as she lays down in his spot on the blanket, he takes hers, lying on his back and propping his head on her chest, sighing as her fingers start to sift through his hair, “I don’t know.  I’ve never really picked one.  What’s yours?”

“Pegasus.  I wanted a flying horse when I was little.  Oh to be so free”, she smiles at the memory, her fingers gently combing through Tim’s hair, “You haven’t said anything about your childhood.  Or your family.”

Tim’s relaxed state leaves him, and his body tenses against her at the mention of his family, while he keeps his gaze trained on the stars overhead, fighting an internal battle with himself.  The memories of his family are more painful than the ones of war, and he keeps them buried even further, but her words bring the memories back to the surface, “There’s not much to tell.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” as she feels Tim grow tense beside her, sees his jaw tighten, the muscles in his arms twitching, Melissa sighs, suddenly regretting that she brought it up.

“My father died before I could pay him back, for all he did to me.  I got back from basic with a gun and skills, and he was dead and in the ground,” it takes a deep breath for him to get the words out, and he cannot bring himself to look up at Melissa as he talks.  But her gentle response, her acceptance of him, faults and all, has made it easier to talk to her.

“He must have been awful, for you to say that”, like the children she deals with, she hugs him to her, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I wish I could have saved you.”

“I wish you could have saved me too”, he heaves a deep sigh, his gaze tracing over the stars as he relaxes, snuggling closer to Melissa, “If I had to pick a favorite… Orion.”

“The hunter.  It suits you”, she smiles, letting the mention of his family slip from her, gently toying with the strands of his hair as she looks up at the stars.

“You’re not trying to save me now are you??  Trying to fix me?”, Tim rolls over, holding himself up over her on his arms, frowning as he looks down at her.  He has accepted his flaws and faults, they are a part of him now; but there have been women who wanted to fix him, to heal the scars he has, and it has done nothing to help him.  Suddenly his expression is guarded, his eyes dark, bracing for the moment when he will have to push her away, when something will go wrong.

Melissa shakes her head no emphatically as his words, reaching up to cup his cheek with her palm, “No Tim.  We all have faults; we all have hurts and wounds from the past.  I can’t fix them for you.  I wish I could, if only so you didn’t hurt, but I can’t.  So I won’t try to.”

“You’re perfect”, he heaves a sigh of relief, leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead, before rolling back over, and settling against her once more, his gaze looking up at the stars. 

“Tell me that on a morning where there is no coffee in the house,” Melissa grins, her fingers once again combing through his hair, her bright gaze looking up at the stars, watching them twinkle and blink against a velvety blue sky.

“I always have coffee”, he laughs at her words, remembering how bleary eyed she was this morning. 

“And chocolate.  It’s the most important food group,” Melissa nudges him as a star shoots across the sky, “Falling star!  Make a wish!!”

“A wish??” he blinks in confusion for a moment, before seeing the streak of light flash across the sky.  At the childish enthusiasm in her voice, Tim cannot help but play along, and he closes his eyes as he makes his wish, “No telling.”

“Of course not, then it won’t come true,” Melissa’s thick lashes fall closed as she wishes on the shooting star, one hand continuing her lazy path through Tim’s hair, mussing it.  She is content to lie on the blanket, and watch the stars, more than content; this is the best spot she can think of right now, watching for shooting stars and talking about constellations, shopping on Amazon, and their favorite books. 

Tim finds himself relaxing more than he has in the past, letting some of his guard down, and finding that Melissa is already slipping past his defenses.  Suddenly finding shooting stars seems to be the most important thing in the world, and he watches the sky intently, eager to find another one for her, pointing out various constellations, laughing as she teases him about his shopping habits, and debating with her over who wrote a better fantasy novel.  The evening had turned out perfect.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Near the back doors lies a tangle of blankets and pillows dropped in a heap, everything slightly damp with the dew that had settled on the grass, and on both Tim and Melissa, as they lay in the grass star-gazing.   and the rest of the brownies Tim had asked for, although larger portions have been cut out of the pan.  Sitting on the island in the kitchen is the pan of brownies, now missing several pieces, and down the hallway, leading to Tim’s bedroom is their clothes, scattered down the hallway.

Tim is leaning against the side of the deep tub in his bathroom, the water warm enough to be comfortable, the jets on the tub stirring the water and the bubbles atop the surface, while he sips from his glass of bourbon, the brownies already demolished.  Each leg is propped against a side of the tub, and in between them, resting with her back against his chest, is Melissa.  Her long strands of chocolate dark hair are piled on top of her head, which lolls against his shoulder, her bright azure gaze hazy with alcohol.

“Tim”, she speaks with the slow precision of someone who has been drinking, fighting to keep from slurring her words together, “I think I’m tipsy.”

“I think you’re drunk”, he chuckles at her, lifting one bubble covered hand to lift strands of silky hair off of her high cheek-bone.  As much as he had enjoyed Melissa yesterday, when she relaxed at his kitchen island, eating barbeque and talking books, he was enjoying this Melissa more.  She warm and soft against his chest, giggling at his jokes, and the flicker of guardedness that crossed her gaze earlier is gone.

“I am not drunk” Melissa retorts, lifting one hand to smear a trail of bubbles down the side of Tim’s face, “I am tipsy.  I’ve had too much chocolate and too much bourbon.  Whose idea was this anyways?”

“You coming over?  It was mine.  The bath??  It was yours”, getting back at her, Tim finds the soft spot on her ribs, tickling her, smirking when she yelps and jumps, splashing them both, “But I was not going to refuse a chance to see you naked.  And I’ve never used the tub.”

“You’re kidding.  You’ve never used this tub??” Melissa turns her head, twisting her body, to look up at him, her eyes wide with astonishment, the dark lashes that surround her gaze spiky with water.  For a girl who loves nothing more than a bath and a book to read, the idea of not using this tub ever occurred to her.

“I always take showers.  Although the next time I have some hot girl over, I’m going to get her drunk and take a bath with her”, leaning comfortably against the back of the tub, Tim sighs in contentment as the jets in the tub work at soothing his muscles, sassing her as his eyes close. Only to blink them in shock, when Melissa dumps a glass full of bath water over his head; spluttering, he rubs water out of his dark blue eyes, only to find himself nose to nose with Melissa.

“I’m fairly certain, Marshal Gutterson, that somewhere in the constitution, it says, thou shall not talk about the next hot girl when the first one is still naked, in your tub”, she is grinning when she says it, an impish gleam in her eyes, as she sets her glass down on the edge of the tub.

Her voice, husky from the bourbon, purrs his name, her accent thicker now that she isn’t fighting to hide it, and it slides down Tim’s spine, sending shock waves through him, “But it says I can talk about you naked in my tub??”

Melissa’s bright blue gaze lowers to her naked body, decorated in places with clumps of bright white, foamy bubbles; her cheeks grow bright and hot with a blush, but she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “Haven’t you seen me naked before??”

“A couple of times.  You have freckles here”, his head dips, and his pouty lips press against her shoulder, and then her opposite shoulder, and then each cheek, each time he speaks, “And here.  And here.  And here.”

“I hate them”, her wet, soapy fingers slide through his hair, running down his shoulders, and then back up through his hair in a gentle motion.

“I like them.  I like each one.  Like this one,” he presses a hot kiss to the top curve of one breast, where a group of freckles sits, his lips giving way to his teeth, and he nips gently at her tender skin. 

“They make me look like I’m 12”, Melissa grumbles, although her eyes fall close and her head lolls back on her shoulders at his movements, long strands of her hair clinging to her wet skin, down her shoulders and back, in stark contrast to her pale skin.

“You’re short, that makes you look like you’re 12”, gently his long-fingered hands slide over her ribs, and down her back, pulling him to her, while his lips continue to press gentle kisses into the freckles on her shoulders. 

“I’m not short, I’m average”, still grumbling, she goes willingly, moving until her legs straddle his, and settling into his lap.

 “You’re short.  It’s ok, it’s cute”, he grins up at her, his lips tracing a path from shoulder to the other, dipping across the curves of her breasts, one hand sliding from around her back to cup  first one, then other in his hands.

“I thought anything more than a handful was a waste for a man”, she sighs at his touch, her head falling back further onto her shoulders, the elastic holding her hair up slipping, threatening to slip from her hair.

“For most men.  I’m a little bit greedy”, as he speaks, he ducks his head, sucking one of her already taut nipples into his mouth, a grin curving the corners of his pouty lips when she gasps.

“Good point.  I asked for dinner and you asked for theentireweekend”, she forces the last of the words out of mouth in a rush, her back arching towards Tim, her fingers tightening in his hair, while goose bumps spread out over her soft skin.

“See… I’m greedy,” he lifts his head from her breast, his hips lifting to grind against hers, as his arm tightens around her back, bringing her small frame flush against his, just before his lips meet hers. 

The elastic holding her hair up finally gives up the fight, and her long tresses slip from their spot, gathered on her head, to spill over her shoulders, sticking to her damp skin.  His hands immediately reach for her hair, gathering in his hands as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to her collarbone.  One hand slides through her hair, and curls around her waist, shifting her off of his lap, and then onto the side of the tub, sitting on the edge, next to the empty glasses that held bourbon a few minutes ago.  The tub is deep enough that sitting in front of her, in the swirling water, Tim’s lips easily graze her belly button, and he grins as he drops kisses around it, which send Melissa into giggles. 

His broad shoulders slide between her thighs, which easily part for him, as his lips trail down the soft curve of her belly, and then down one hip.  His lips are teasingly butterfly light as they coast up the inside of one thigh, and she whimpers in frustration, her fingers digging into his shoulders, the movement bringing a grin to his lips, “Now who’s being greedy??”

“You pick a fine time to….” Melissa’s retort was halfway out of her mouth when Tim ducked his head, dragging his tongue up against her sensitive folds in one long lick, and the remark dies on her lips.

“Hmmm??  Did you have something smart-ass to say??” he smirks up at her, his fingers running up and down her thighs, before sliding up the inside of her thighs, sliding against her smooth skin until he can slip one into her body. 

“Holy shit… can’t… talk…” Melissa’s hips jerk at his touch, her body clenching around his fingers, her bright gaze falling shut, lashes fluttering.

“That’s what I thought…” grinning arrogantly, Tim lowers his head once more, his tongue rubbing against that sensitive spot of flesh, and then he sucks it into his mouth, while his fingers start to slide in and out of her, agonizingly slowly.

Melissa moans, her hips jerking at his tongue.  As they sat in the bath, eating brownies, drinking bourbon, and talking about everything and nothing at once, she had been aware of the under-current of energy, that warm glow of want and need.  That current has hummed beneath the surface since she first stepped into his house, it was there when they grocery shopped, made brownies and grilled, it was there in the quiet moments staring at the stars not too long ago.  But with just a few touches, just the slightest hint of his mouth on her sensitive skin, and it comes back to her in full force.  Her teeth sink into her lip, bruising the tender skin, to keep the moan back, but it slips through anyways, echoing in the small bathroom.

He feels every twitch, hears every whimper and moan, and it drives him on.  The undercurrent of want that had been there, warming him, rushes to the surface, and he wants nothing more than Melissa in this moment.  Beneath the water he is already hard, throbbing, but he is determined to take his time, to push her over the edge with his mouth, like he did that first time.  Slowly his fingers slide in and out of her, but he turns them, pressing them down instead of curling them up, and is rewarded when Melissa jumps, nearly sliding off the side of the tub, if not for his other arm, hooked around the small of her back keeping her place.  His talented tongue swirls as he sucks on her, and she jerks again, forcing him to tighten his arm around her again.

“Tim… Tim…” when his fingers shifted, turning inside of her, Melissa gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulder.  She is thankful for his arm around her back, the ability to keep herself upright and balanced on the edge of the tub is beyond her at the moment.  The lights above her head, dimmed when they slipped in, grow bright, and she gasps, feeling that golden warmth slip through her again.

Tim has learned her body already, he knows the breathy way she says his name, the way her fingers tighten in his hair and on his back, knows how tight she grows when she gets close, and he sucks on that sensitive bud again, his fingers continuing their slow rhythm, in and out of her body.  The urge to stop, to drag her from her spot on the edge of the tub, and toss her onto the bed is nearly overwhelming, and for a moment he shakes with the effort to stop himself from doing just that. 

She takes one final breath on a whimper that grows into a moan, before it feels like lightening is shooting through her body; she arches into his hands and mouth, the ceiling above her head spinning as her world splinters.  When she can breathe again, he is trailing soft kisses up her thigh, nipping at the skin above her knee, his lips smirking up at her.

“Still can’t talk?” finally, Tim moves, stretching up from his spot in the tub, leaning past her to flick the controls on the jets off, and then reaching for her in one smooth move.  Water and bubbles slide down his muscled body, as he curls his arms around her, tugging her to her feet, and then guiding her out of the tub with sure movements. 

“Smart-ass”, on wobbly knees, she leans against him, curling her arms around his neck, and gingerly stepping out of the tub.  The bourbon, the warm water, the orgasm, all combine, and her knees are more than weak as she stands. 

“Always,” Tim grins at her, her cheeks flushed, she blushed just as she came, turning pink, and the color always stayed with her for a few minutes, her eyes hazy, her hair damp and clinging to her skin.  She is not the pulled together, efficient woman he sees at the office, and something primitive within him responds to who she is now, the real her.  He grabs a thick, soft bath sheet, and wraps it around her frame, wrapping another one around his hips, and pulls her body to his one more, walking her backwards towards the bed, combing his fingers through her water-dark hair as they walk.

Emboldened by the bourbon, and finally relaxing around Tim completely, Melissa goes easily, walking backwards on bare feet into his bedroom, her arms curling around his neck, her lips rising to meet his.  The kiss starts almost sweet, before turning hotter, her lips part as his do, and she curls her tongue around his, while her fingers slide to the waistband of the towel.  It takes her a moment, her hands are unsteady and Tim is a master of wrapping a towel, but she tugs it free, and then slides her arms up his back, still beaded with warm water.  Once he is naked, she realizes her own towel is in a puddle at her feet, and the bed is against the back of her knees.  She sinks onto it, her fingers linking around his neck to tug him with her.   

Tim follows her, until they are stretched out sideways on the bed, resting his weight on his arms, as their lips meet once more.  For long moments, all they do is kiss, tongues curling around each other evocatively, basking in each other’s presence, the feel of her naked skin against his equally naked skin, the heat they’re generating.  Melissa pulls away first, panting for breath, her fingers combing through his hair as she looks up at him, her cheeks dark with a blush.

“You’re blushing”, Tim smirks down at her, shifting his weight to one arm, using the other one to brush the backs of his long fingers against one pink cheek.  He is hard, throbbing; his erection pushing insistently against the tender folds between her legs, but he doesn’t move, merely continues to stroke her cheek gently. 

“You make me blush all the time.  I think you get a thrill out of it”, her eyes close and she rubs her face against his fingers, sighing at his touch, while her fingers coast down his arms, running over the thick, corded muscle on his arms, and then back up to his hair.

“I do, I like making you blush at work”, he continues to rub his fingers against her cheek, before leaning towards the nightstand once more, tugging a condom from the drawer.  A quick peek inside lets him know he needs to make a run for more, especially if Melissa is planning on repeating her visit here.

“I know, and it drives me insane”, she grins at him, leaning towards him when he leans away, her fingers trailing down his stomach, and then curling around his erection.  When he pauses, hissing in a breath, she grins arrogantly, and starts to slowly stroke him, her touch teasingly light, “Got something smart-ass to say now??”

“Give me a minute, and I will”, Tim has to grit his teeth at her touch, the pleasure it sends through him making his knees weak, and he fumbles several times to get the packet of foil open, cursing it as he does.  Once again, Melissa takes it from him, continuing to stroke him as she does, stopping long enough to roll the condom over his length, while she leans forward and plants a series of hot, stinging kisses down his chest.

His large hands wrap around her shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed, and then slide down her body, cupping her breasts in both hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers for a moment, before sliding down her stomach, and to her hips.  Easily he lifts her thighs to his waist, smiling in satisfaction when her long legs curl around him, and he leans down, brushing against her hot core, but not quit sinking into her, “But I think I like it when you’re naked, in my bed, and you blush more.”

At his hotly whispered word, his lips hovering a mere breath above her own, Melissa turns scarlet, but she grins up at him, her eyes dark with arousal, “I think you like me naked period.  Doesn’t matter if I’m blushing or not.”

“I like you in clothes, but I do like you naked” he grins down at her, just barely sinking into her body, before pulling away, and then slipping into her once more, never fully sliding into her.  The effort to keep from burying himself in her shows, makes his arms twitch, he grits his teeth, but the look on Melissa’s face, nearly pouting, the feel of her nails digging into his back, in an effort to get more of him, is worth it, and he continues, sinking into her fully once, only to withdraw and start to tease her once more.

Melissa is shaking, each time he slips into her, only to withdraw, only letting her barely feel him, her hips jerk, and she cannot help the whimper that slips from her lips.  Her body squeezes around him each time, but it is not enough to keep him within her, to give her what she craves, all of him, and her back bows from the bed, trying in vain to get him closer, “Stop teasing…”

“No”, he forces the words out past his teeth, although he’s enjoying not giving into her, he badly wants to, his body is fairly screaming at him to give in.  But still he continues, just barely slipping into her, pulling away when she struggles to get close to her.  He leans his weight on one arm, the muscles bulging as they hold him, and runs his other hand down her stomach, until his fingers can brush over the most sensitive spot on her, rubbing gently as he continues to torment her.

She jerks at his touch, her thighs starting to shake as her body tightens around his length, which finally sinks into her, only to teasingly slip away again, “Tim… please… please…”

Her breathy moan undoes him, and his fingers still busy, he sinks fully into her, staying within her body as it squeezes him tightly, his head falling to rest on her shoulder.  Slowly, almost painfully slowly, do his hips move, easing from her, only to ease back into her once again, and he curses as she tightens around him, unsure if he will able to keep this up.

She is close again, tormented by his fingers and his body, her legs shaking as she tightens them around his waist, using them as leverage to meet each slow, steady thrust.  If he continues to move his fingers, rubbing against her clit with a slow rhythm, she feels as though she will die, but if he stops, she feels the same way.  One more thrust, one more pass of his fingers against her, and suddenly she is moaning his name, her body shaking, tightening around him and squeezing him tightly as she goes over the edge, pushed by his body.  When he feels her orgasm, feels her body tighten almost painfully around his, he groans, giving up his control, and thrusts into her harder, his hips meeting hers, and in just a few thrusts, he explodes, burying his face in her neck as his body jerks against hers. 

Melissa moves first, lifting her head from the sheet-covered mattress and dropping soft, gentle kisses against the side of his face and temple, which Tim returns.  He has not, in the past, been one for the post-sex snuggle, but he is moved to let Melissa see the softer side of him, especially now, and he leans up on his elbows, tracing her face with his fingers.  She smiles up at him, her eyes hazy and tender at the same time, her fingers gently tracing over his shoulders and down his arms, while she leans up to kiss the small bump on his nose, proof he’s had it broken before. 

 


	15. Chapter 15

With a sigh, Tim pulls away from her, wincing as he slips from her body, and walks shakily to the bathroom.  Once the condom is in the trash, he drains the tub, as Melissa slips into the bathroom.  She lifts one slim hand, pointing to the door, and he cannot help but grin, already he is whistling, off-key, from the movie Tangled this time, and as he shuts the door, he starts to sing “I have a dream, I have a dream…”

“Thank you!!” she calls to the closed bathroom door, although she’s giggling as she does so.  A few minutes later, and she is back in the bed, laying on Tim’s chest, her fingers curling the hair there around her fingers gently. 

“You’re going to have to get over that you know” he grins down at her, running one hand up and down the arm that is propped on his chest.

“Not anytime soon”, she shakes her head no at him, her fingers moving to trace over the tattoo on his chest, her nails gently running over the outline.

“Yes, soon, I can’t always leave the bathroom because you need to pee”, still grinning, he nods yes at her, stretching his legs further out across the bed, and then shifting her higher on his chest.

“Well you only have one more day of it, you’ll survive”, she sticks her tongue out at him in response, moving as he tugs her, until she is nearly lying on top of him, one leg propped on the bed beside his hip.

“Nope,” this time he shakes his head, running his long and work roughened fingers, equally talented at holding a gun and at pleasuring her, up and down her back.

“So I’m leaving in the morning then?” Melissa lifts her head from his chest, looking down at him, propping herself up on an arm that is stretched out beside his head..

“No, you’re staying til Monday.  And then you’re coming back, as often as you can”, his words are said with a quiet arrogance, an assurance that he is right, but there is something vulnerable in his blue gray eyes that belie his words.

“Wellll….” She drags the words out, as if she is thinking it over, when in fact her heart as just turned over at his words, and is suddenly hammering against her ribs, “Only if you promise to share the hot water.  I hate cold showers.”

When she looks as if she is questioning whether or not she will be here, for a moment Tim has a sinking feeling, and he fights to keep it at bay, although his eyes grow guarded again.  But her words ease him, and he laughs, nodding at her words, “I promise.”

“You know, you can always come to my house.  I keep my pantry stocked full”, relaxing against him once more, she rests her head back on his chest, her fingers resuming playing with the hair that covers his chest.

“You don’t have a bunch of cats do you??  Or teddy bears all over??” he grins at the idea, his smirk giving way to a quiet yelp when she pinches him, none too gently.

“Do I look like the type to have either of those??  I have one teddy bear in my house.  One.  And he stays, no matter how cute you are”, satisfied with a pinch as payback, Melissa does not move, although she smirks up at him.

“Only because you said you have food”, Tim grins into the dark of his bedroom, enjoying the idea of being in Melissa’s house, curious to see where she lives, knowing that her house will reveal a lot more about her than he already knows, “maybe we should trade weekends, one here and one at your place.”

“You’re being greedy again,” she giggles at his words, although the idea of spending every weekend with Tim does funny things to her heart rate again.

“Well, if you don’t want me to stay the weekend, then I’ll just take my brownies and go sulk”, once more his tone is light, but his eyes are guarded, and he cannot help the slight tenseness that comes over his body.

“I didn’t say that.  If you want to stay for the weekend at my house, you know I want you there.  Just like I wanted to be here,” ever perceptive, Melissa feels his body grow tense, and she runs a gentle hand down his chest as she speaks.

“Is this were we have the talk?  About where this is going and what we’re doing??” he cannot mask the sigh at the thought, his words suddenly uncertain, his body tenses once more.

“Do you want to?” she lifts her head from his chest, and her eyes are just as guarded as his, when their gazes meet.  Once more she reverts to her habit of hiding behind her hair, letting damp strands falling over her cheekbones and into her gaze, partially hiding her from him.

“I don’t know”, he heaves a sigh, dropping his head back onto his pillow, and raking a hand through his hair.

“Then we won’t yet”, Melissa says a silent prayer of thanks, dropping her head on to his chest and the snuggling against him again.

For several moments, Tim does not speak, but lays with her, at once enjoying her warm, the feel of her against him, and her quiet presence soothing him; and at the same time unsettled by their conversation, “You know I’m not seeing anyone else, right?”

“No Tim, I thought you had a harem of women at your beck and call, and this was just my special weekend”, she softens her flip response with a gentle kiss to his jaw, and squeals when he runs his fingers up her sides, tickling her.

“Well, there is that one girl at the courthouse, and her friend”, swiftly he reverses their positions, until she is flat on her back, and he props his head on her stomach, snuggling into her frame and wrapping both powerfully built arms around her.

“So you do have a harem around here.  I knew it”, she settles into the pillows, wrapping one long leg around his, and running her fingers through his hair.

“It’s a regular den of inequity around here”, he grins against the tender skin of her stomach, and then looks up at her, his expression serious, “There isn’t anyone else, and there won’t be, while you’re here.  Or around… or… shit.. you know what I’m trying to say.”

“It definitely looks like it, I keep wondering if you have a sex dungeon tucked away somewhere”, her flip response dies as he looks up at her, and she nods to his words, “There is only one man in my life at a time.  And I have never done anything like this before.”

“Come over to a guy’s house for dinner?” suddenly lighter somehow, a feeling that Melissa frequently pulls out of him, Tim gets flip with her, his baby face losing its normal intense look.

“Stay the weekend on a first date, smart-ass”, her bright blue gaze lifts as she rolls her eyes at him, sighing, although she’s grinning when she does it.

“I know.  You’re the good girl”, a smirk curls his lips as his dark navy gaze takes her in.  She is the opposite of good girl now, naked in his bed, on her second night in his house. 

“And we always finish last”, Melissa heaves an overly-dramatic sigh, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon.

“I made sure you finished first”, a wolfish grin curls the corners of Tim’s mouth as he grins up at her, and he starts to laugh when she turns scarlet at his words, hiding her face in her hands.

“Shut up Tim”, she giggles around her fingers, her skin hot with her blush.

“Can I say that tomorrow at Art’s?” He manages to keep his face perfectly composed and serious asking his question, looking up at her with a genuine questioning look in his dark blue gaze.

Melissa moves faster than he anticipated, snatching a pillow from behind her, and swinging it for his head, grinning down at him when he rubs the side of his head where the pillow connected with him, “Only if you’re prepared for that to happen again.”

“Oh yeah??  So you’re tough now??” he grabs the pillow from her, thwapping her with it once, before tossing it and pinning her to the bed with one arm, and then tickling her with the other.  Melissa shrieks and squeals, nearly falling off the bed in an effort to get away from him.  Tim catches her by the arm, hauling her back to him to continue his assault, until finally Melissa manages to snatch a pillow and hit him with it again.

“Truce??”  She holds her hand out, the other still clenching the pillow tightly, sitting on her knees in front of him, giggling despite her words.

“Put the pillow down”, he motions to her hand, grinning at her, enjoying simply rough housing with her. 

“Not until you promise to quit tickling me”, her dark head shakes back and forth at his words, while she pants for breath, her giggles making it harder to catch her breath.

“Fine.  I promise.” Holding one hand up, like he is swearing an oath, he smirks at her.

“Fine.  I’ll put the pillow down.  But I’ll use it again”, she gives in to the humor of the situation, still giggling she lays back on the pillows, stretching out across the bed once more.

“What??” his head tilts at her sudden laughter.

“If you had told me three days ago, that I would be in your bed, naked, having a pillow and tickle fight, I would have taken you to get your head examined”, Melissa giggles harder, burying her face in her hands when she snorts.

“You didn’t see this coming??  I did.  I’m psychic”, he grins down at her, resuming his place, this time propping her head on her breasts, snuggling into the valley between them.

“Never give a straight answer, is that like Ranger code or something?” she grins at his words, running her fingers through his hair.

“Nah, just mine.” He sighs at her touch, relaxing against her frame, his arms wrapping around her back, hugging her to him.

“At least I know what I’m in for” she grins in to the night-darkened room, continuing her slow stroking of his hair. 

“Sass all the time.  Shopping at night.  Too many movies”, Tim yawns into her skin, his dark blue gray eyes falling shut.

“One day, when it’s raining, we’re going to have an all day movie marathon.  Order take out, I’ll make cheesecake, and we’ll just watch movies all day”, Melissa stretches, curling one leg around his, before her fingers start to run down his broad shoulders and arms.

“I hope it rains tomorrow then”, his answer is spontaneous, said around another yawn, while he reaches down to tug the covers up to his waist, warding off the cool of the night.

Melissa laughs at his eagerness for a movie day, “We have to go to Art’s tomorrow, Raylan threatened to show up here and force us to go.”

“I’ll kick his ass.  Or shoot him, if he does” Tim grumbles at the thought of having his day disturbed, “I did promise I’d go a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you don’t break promises.  Neither do I.  For the safety of Raylan’s health, we’ll go”, thankful he tugged the sheets up, Melissa yawns, and rubs at her eyes with the back of one hand.

“I was looking forward to kicking his ass” as tired as he is, Tim manages to fake a pout.  In truth, he deeply respects Raylan, and looks up to the older marshal.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait”, she smiles at his words, lifting her lashes to look at him, propping up on her chest, his face buried in her soft skin.

“Fine” he still mock pouts a little, but it fades into a grin, and then a yawn.  He is warm, relaxed, and Melissa’s fingers running down his shoulders and arms are nearly hypnotic.

She smiles at the top of his head, leaning up to drop an affectionate kiss on his forehead, before settling back down against the pillows.  A few murmurs from Tim, and he is soon asleep, still using her as a pillow, and then snoring.  Melissa follows him into sleep, her fingers trailing lazy patterns over his arms as her eyes drift closed.

 


	16. Chapter 16

The morning finds Melissa barefoot in Tim’s kitchen, wearing one of his t-shirts, her dark hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head.  On the island behind her sits a growing stack of pancakes, a plate of bacon, bowls of fresh fruit, and two steaming cups of coffee.   The heap of blankets from last night’s star gazing are in the dryer, the pillows put back on the couch, and Tim is loading clothes, his and hers, into the washer.  The moment is so domestic, so naturally settled, that it gives Melissa the giggles as she flips a pancake over.

His normally focused face is more relaxed as he walks into the kitchen, slipping onto a bar stool, and watching Melissa cook.  The speed at which they have settled around each other, going from nervous attraction to a comfortable place, shocks him.  Tim still is attracted to her, still wants her with an ache that has not left him, but he finds his guard slipping further and further, the longer Melissa is around him.

The last pancake done, Melissa drops it on top of the stack, turns the stove off, and sits down next to Tim.  She has a ripe strawberry halfway to her mouth, when she realizes Tim has not moved, and is staring intently at her.  Almost instantly, a blush decorates her cheeks, turning her dark shade of pink, “What?”

“You look good here” he gestures to the kitchen as he speaks, sliding pancakes onto his plate.

“In your kitchen??  You’re secretly a misogynist aren’t you?” she grins over at him, the blush still riding high on her cheeks.

“That’s not what I meant.  You look good here, in my house, in my shirt.  I didn’t…” Tim pauses, realizing he is revealing more of himself again to her, and wondering how she manages to do that to him, “expect you to.”

Melissa puts the strawberry down, and leans over to Tim, pressing her lips against his cheek, “I didn’t think you were a romantic.   That is horribly sweet.”

His sudden unease passes, and he grins, shoveling a fork full of pancakes into his mouth, eating with the same efficiency he learned in the Army, “So, if I cook dinner, you have to cook breakfast.  I think it’s a fair trade.”

“Deal.  I don’t have a grill at my house though”, she grins at him, popping the strawberry into her mouth.

“You’re killing me here” Tim sighs, rolling his blue gray eyes at her.

“This just means you have to figure out how to work a stove”, taking a sip of her coffee, she winces, and reaches for the sugar, adding another heaping spoonful to her cup.

“I can work a stove.  I just like grilling better”, he grins at her words, taking a sip of his coffee with one hand, and gesturing to the kitchen windows with the other, where sunlight is streaming in, “The sun is out, so the rainy day marathon will have to wait.”

“Bookstore??  There’s that new one up by the mall” she looks over at him as she sips her coffee.  She has wanted to visit the newly opened bookstore, and now she has the perfect excuse to go, and the perfect person to go with her. 

“Christ, you’re perfect”, he nods at her suggestion, grinning at the idea of a bookstore, especially with Melissa.  She will not ask him to leave early, he can look at books and magazines to his heart’s content.

“I know, it’s a talent.” She flips her hair off of her shoulder with an arrogant move, while her bare feet curl around the bar stool she is sitting on.

“And you do perfection so well” draining the last of his coffee, Tim stands up, heading for the front door, and his running shoes sitting there. 

Tim managed to squeeze a run in after breakfast, and came home to find Melissa showered, dressed in a pair of jeans with butterflies embroidered on the back pockets, and a shirt that hangs off of one shoulder, in a deep shade of blue.  The bra strap that crosses her shoulder is almost the same shade, and the effect, rather than slutty, is somehow tempting.  Eyeing her form as she folds clothes on his bed, he slips in for a shower.  Yet again, he catches a whiff of the perfume she uses, and finds himself sniffing her soap, it has the same smell. 

“You have to tell me what perfume that is, I can’t figure it out” he stands in his bedroom, towel drying his hair, in nothing but a pair of boxers.

“I mix it myself” she grins at him, folding clothes on his bed, sorting them into his clothes, and hers. 

“You make your own perfume??” he pauses in the act of tugging his shirt over his head to look at her.

“No, I go this store downtown.  You select what scents you like, and they mix it into perfume, lotion, soap, that sort of thing” she holds out a bottle of perfume, the golden liquid sits in a small crystalline bottle, with her name engraved on the front. 

One sniff, and Tim closes his eyes, the scent linked with her now, “That’s why I couldn’t figure it out.”

“Yeah, it’s just mine.  They don’t sell the scents customers make, so whatever you make, it’s just yours.” One hand rakes through her hair, pulling the long layers away from her face, as she slips into a pair of shoes, “This bookstore is half art store, and you may have to drag me out of there.”

“Art??  You draw??” one eyebrow lifts at her in question, she has never mentioned art, and he has never seen her sketch or draw.  But she is as dedicated to her job as he is to his, and it seems like she never has enough down-time at work to do anything.

“Yeah, I paint more than anything else” she tucks her clean clothes back into her bag, sliding her father’s watch onto her slim wrist.

“I want to see something you’ve done.” Tim tugs a pair of jeans up over the boxers that ride on his hips, the movement drawing attention to his well-built body.  Something Melissa never fails to notice.

“Really??” caught in the act of staring at him, she blushes, and nervously fiddles with the watch on her right wrist, turning it until it sits comfortably.

“Wouldn’t have said if I didn’t mean it.” He smirks at her, having caught her stare, sitting on the bed to tug a pair of socks on, and then boots.

“More incentive to come to my house then, most of my stuff is up there.” Despite her embarrassment, she grins, Tim’s interest in her artwork sending a small thrill through her.

The bookstore is not one of those huge chain stores, but a small one, owned by a couple that lives in town, and have finally opened their dream store.  True to her word, Melissa disappears after picking up the latest book in the series Tim got her started on, and she stands in the back of the store, happily looking over paints, canvases, brushes, charcoals and pastels.  Her arms loaded with a new sketchbook, pastels, and a few new paints, she walks back to the front of the store, standing on tiptoe to peer over the shelving, looking for Tim.

“I like the series.  I find the author to be a little wordy in the middle of the second book, but overall the series is very entertaining”, the man’s voice jolts Melissa, who had been focused on finding Tim, and she turns, taking in his black spiky hair, buttoned up shirt and vest, and intense green eyes.

“I just started the series, but thank you for the recommendation”, a chill skates down Melissa’s spine, although she manages to keep from shivering, there is something sinister about the man’s southern charm.

“I think you will find it highly enjoyable.  And you paint as well, I see.  A renaissance woman”, Boyd motions to the tubes of paint that rest atop the book Melissa is carrying, “Oil paint as well, a nod to the greats of the past.”

“I’m getting away from acrylics for awhile”, she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, before her gaze lifts to the racks of books, suddenly wanting Tim’s presence. 

“Oil paintings have a deeper, more complex feel to them,” Boyd smiles at her, his too-perfect teeth showing, “The masters all used oil paints, and I don’t feel it’s right to break with tradition.”

She has been in Lexington long enough to recognize the Harlan accent, and her bright blue gaze takes in the books in his hand, philosophy, history, and Milton, while she shifts the stuff balanced in her arms, fighting the urge to run straight to Tim, “I would have to agree.”

The expression on Boyd’s face, charming yet slick, changes when Tim walks up behind her, sliding a long-fingered hand around Melissa’s arm, and tugging her to him at the same time he puts himself almost directly in front of her, and in between her and Boyd.  Clearly, Tim recognizes him, and just as clearly, he recognizes Tim, his green eyes growing colder, but his wide smile stays firmly in place, “Well hello Deputy Marshal Gutterson, I didn’t expect to see you here on this fine Sunday morning.”

Tim takes a step to the side, clearly blocking Melissa from Boyd, who responds by craning his neck to see the dark-haired woman.  Boyd may be from Harlan, and he may have grown-up dirty poor, but he is not stupid; Tim is shielding Melissa from him.  The older man lifts his green gaze from Melissa, back to Tim, who is regarding Boyd with a dark look, his brows knitted together.

“I was in the neighborhood”, Tim keeps himself between Boyd and Melissa, his dislike of the man apparent, meeting Boyd’s gaze with his own.

“And you know this lovely young artist I take it?” Boyd gestures with the hand holding Paradise Lost, towards Melissa, both goading Tim, and trying to figure out why Tim is so overly-protective.  A witness in protection would not be out, at a bookstore, so it can only mean… they’re here together. 

“Yeah, I do.” Tim grits the words out, taking a step back, folding his muscular arms over his chest as he does, the movement forcing Melissa to take a step back as well, “We have somewhere to be.”

“Boyd Crowder by the way, since the marshal here insists on forgoing social graces,” Boyd smiles that big-toothed smile at Melissa again.

“Melissa St. Germain, it’s nice to meet you”, Melissa is bewildered by Tim’s reaction, annoyed by it as well, and answers him automatically, peeking out around Tim’s shoulder at the man.  It takes a moment, before she realizes she knows his name, and her bright  blue eyes widen in recognition.

It takes a lot of his control to keep from snarling at Boyd, but Tim manages to keep his cool, gesturing towards the check-out counter, where one of the owners is waiting on a customer, “Now that I remember my manners, if you’ll excuse us.”

“I’m not nearly as dangerous as the marshal’s make me out to be Ms. St. Germain,” Boyd gestures to the stack of books he is holding in his hand, “I’m just a poor boy from Harlan.”

As Boyd disappears behind the rows of books, Tim threads his fingers through Melissa’s tugging her towards the check-out counter.  The relaxed, joking Tim she had been around since leaving the office on Friday, the Tim that tickled her until she shrieked and slept with his head on his chest, who had watched stars with her, is gone.  In his place is the Tim that Melissa knows from work, his gaze grows intense and focused, and stays trained on the mirrors around the check-out counter, where he can see the aisles.  He keeps Melissa in front of him, his casual lean belying his intent on watching Boyd, idly playing with her hair with one hand, the other resting on her shoulder.

Just as Tim watches him in the security mirrors, Boyd watches Tim.  The marshal is not escorting a witness, that is obvious from the way he stands with her pulled against him, and from the mark, in just barely there faint colors of purple and red, that decorated Melissa’s collar bone.  Tucking away the information, Boyd goes back to wandering the aisles filled with books, looking up in time to see them slip out the doors. 

By the time they are at the truck, Melissa’s aggravation is getting the better of her, and she stops several feet from Tim’s truck, pulling herself from his hands, “Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?  Or do I get to be carted around like a china doll?”

“You know his name, you must know who he is”, Tim sighs as he turns back to Melissa, gesturing to the passenger side of his truck, his gaze going dark with anger when she doesn’t get in.

“Yeah, Boyd Crowder.  Rumored criminal mastermind of Harlan”, Melissa meets his angry glare, and shakes her head when he points to the passenger side of the truck again, “Not until you tell me what is going on.”

“He’s dangerous Melissa.  He’s killed people, more than I probably know; he sells drugs and blows up churches.  I do not want you anywhere around him”, aggravated with her now, and wanting to put some space between Boyd and Melissa, Tim moves from the driver side, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders, shoving her towards the door with one hand as he tugs it open with the other.

“Tim, stop.  Dammit!!  I said stop!” Melissa finds herself picked up and shoved onto the seat, the seat belt snapped in place before she can even fight back, and as soon as Tim slips into the car, she turns, her bright gaze dark with fury, “You cannot just shove me in your truck.”

“I believe I just did” Tim’s control snaps into place, and he remains calm as he turns the truck on, and then adjusts the air conditioning, “If you too get too cold, let me know.”

“You are the most infuriating man on the face of the planet”, she spits the words back at him, crossing her arms over her chest, and turning her face to look out the window, knowing it was going to be a tense ride home.

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

She was right, the ride home was long and quiet and very strained.  Tim has not spoken, and had kept his steely gaze on the road, the muscles in his jaw ticking, his left leg bouncing as he drove.  Halfway home, Melissa had turned her gaze from the window just enough to peek at Tim out from under the cover of her lashes, the a/c blasting enough arctic air over her small frame to bring chills.  A slight shiver shakes her, as they sit at a red-light, and Tim leans forward, turning the a/c down, before curling both long-fingered hands around the steering wheel once more. 

“I’m not apologizing.  I will protect you from Boyd Crowder, and from anyone like him.  That’s my job Melissa”, Tim puts his truck in gear in his driveway, and finally turns his gaze back on Melissa.  From her stiffened posture, and her refusal to meet his gaze, he knows she is mad.  Not the angry she gets with him over a late report, he has never seen Melissa this mad before.

“I’m not a child Tim.  I know his reputation, he’s dangerous.  But you cannot manhandle me in the name of protecting me”, Melissa heaves a sigh, sliding out of the truck and then leaning in to grab her bag from the bookstore, finally looking at Tim. 

His features are stony, although his gaze softens as he looks at her, unclipping his seat belt and tugging the keys from the ignition, “Next time, I’ll say please.”

At his words, Melissa smiles, despite her attempts not to, shutting the door to his truck.  But she knows she has to fully open up, and tell Tim what is going on, the thought of his reaction causes her smile to fade, “Is this the part where I say his name is in one of my case files?”

He had relaxed at her smile, knowing she was giving, just a little, but he freezes in place, half out of the truck, when she mentions a case.  His look darkens again, his features hardening into the focused marshal, with nerves made of iron, “Which one?”

“The Duncan case.  The man that was yelling at me on the phone?  His latest arrest report mentions some connections to the Crowder’s”, Melissa heaves a sigh, knowing just from Tim’s reaction at the bookstore that he is going to be upset, raking a hand through her dark hair, shoving it impatiently out of her gaze.

“Just so I have the facts straight here.  You took Craig Duncan’s three girls away from him for abuse.  He has failed to meet the requirements to get them back.  He calls and yells at you on the phone, calls you names I won’t repeat,” Tim walks up to her, taking her by the hand and pulling her into the house as he speaks, this time flipping every lock on the door closed behind them, “And he’s linked to Boyd Crowder?”

“Yeah, that’s about it” automatically she slips out of her shoes in the doorway, not meeting Tim’s stony glare, although she does not have to, she can feel the heat of it boring into the back of her dark head.

“Jesus fucking Christ Melissa.  This didn’t bring up any red flags for you?” Tim sets the alarm, and then stalks into the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen island and folding his arms over his chest, the movement making the muscles bulge.

“Half my case files bring up red flags.  I’m sure your files are worse.” Melissa’s bare shoulder, where her shirt has slipped off, lifts in a shrug, while she keeps her gaze fastened on the ballet slippers on her feet.  If she is honest, Tim’s reaction merely strengthens her own instincts about Craig Duncan, and she is torn between fear and irritation with Tim’s protectiveness.

“The man is threatening your life.” With her head tilted down, with her refusing to meet his gaze, Tim opts for boring holes into the top of her head with his gaze, not moving from his spot in the kitchen.

“And your life has never been threatened?  This goes with the territory Tim.” Finally she looks up, making her way into the kitchen and setting her bag from the bookstore down beside him.

“What goes on now with the Duncan case?” Tim watches her, his body tense as he leans against the kitchen counter.  He refuses to admit that Melissa has gotten past more of his defenses than he has previously realized, and that his feelings are driving him as much as his professional instincts.

“Well, we’re due in court on Thursday.  We’re asking the judge to sever the Duncan’s parental rights, and let the girls be adopted by their foster family”, Melissa pours herself a glass of iced tea, and then pours him one as well, sliding it across the counter towards him.

“So you’re going to really piss Duncan off”, He heaves a sigh at her words, imagining in his mind the scene in the court room.  Several times he has been called upstairs to family court when irate parents would start threatening the judge, or anyone involved in a case.  The scene has never been pretty.

“Probably.  I’ve yet to meet a parent that took well to the idea of having their rights severed by the state”, she sips at her tea, watching the muscles in his jaw ticking as she regards him over the top of her iced tea glass.

“The man is violent, and very dangerous.  I’ve seen his record.  Why didn’t you tell me?” ignoring the peace offering Melissa offered to him, he pushes off the counter, moving to stand beside her.  Despite his agitation, which is evident, he reaches out to her, pushing the layers of dark hair away from her face.

“Because I’m a grown-up Tim.  I am threatened and yelled at by a parent on a nearly daily basis”, her words have bite to them, she’s still irritated over Tim’s reaction in the bookstore.  Her eyes close at his touch, while she brings the glass of iced tea up and rolls it against her forehead. 

“This is different”, gently he reaches one of his large hands around her neck, rubbing at the muscles there.  When she looks up at him out of the corner of her eyes, the look in her gaze in agreement to his words, Tim sighs, leaning his forehead against her temple, “And judging by the look on your face, you feel the same way.”

“Tim, I’m not going to be bullied and scared by this man.  Or Boyd Crowder”, despite her words, she turns, leaning her forehead against his chest, and setting the glass of iced tea down on the island.

“After we leave Art’s, we’re swinging by your house, you’re packing more stuff, and staying here until at least Thursday”, his arms curl around her, bringing him to her, and he buries his face in her hair, breathing the scent of her perfume, her shampoo, and the unique smell that is just her in.

“I most certainly am not”, she stiffens at his words, leaning back to look up at Tim, shaking her head no at him, the motion sending her silky hair cascading into her eyes again.

“You’d prefer the motel the marshal’s put witnesses in?  I can tell you, it’s not the nicest one in the world.” Tim’s jaw tightens at his words, his intense look boring into her own.  in spite of his tone, and his words, he cups her face in his hands, pushing the dark hair out of her eyes with a tender touch.

“I’m going home, and staying at my house.  I’m not going to let him drive me out of my home” again she shakes her head at his words, although her movements are small; her face is still cradled by his palms. 

“Fine.” He leans forward, pressing a light kiss onto her forehead, and then steps away, walking on socked feet towards his bedroom, his stride purposeful.

“Don’t argue with… fine?” anticipating his response, Melissa stops short, blinking in surprise when she realizes he’s agreed with her.  Her gaze shifts from angry to confused, and she stares at his retreating back.

“Yep, fine” Tim smirks at her over one muscled shoulder, the look betraying his words.  He’s agreed too easily, and something is coming.

“Where are you going?” she pushes off from the counter, leaving her glass of iced tea, and his, sitting there, and follows him, one eyebrow lifted in question as Tim turns, and walks into his bedroom.

“To pack.  You told me you wanted me to come over, and now you’ve got your wish.  I’m staying at your place until after the court makes a final decision”, his words are muffled as he leans into the closet, grabbing a duffel bag and tossing it onto the unmade bed, where it lands with a small thump.

“What?” standing in the doorway, Melissa freezes in place, her light blue eyes comically round in shock as she blinks several times, her gaze moving from the duffel bag to Tim, who is in his closet, pulling a few shirts off of hangers. 

“I’d prefer to stay here, but if you’re insistent on staying at your house, then I’ll go there”, he flicks his hard blue gray gaze at her, before going back to tucking clothes into the duffel bag now opened on his bed.

“You’re serious aren’t you?” watching him pack with an efficiency that reminded her of her older brothers, Melissa heaved a sigh, burying her face in her palm, propping herself up in the door frame with the other hand.

“Yep.” Uncomfortable with his motives for doing this, his instincts telling him something was just off about her case, his training kicks in, and he reverts to one word answers as he surveys the duffel bag. 

“And you’re not going to give in, are you?” through her fingers, she watches him, her bright blue gaze taking in his back, tense now as he packs.

“Nope.” At her words, he looks over at her, his features softening for an instant, before focusing on packing once more.

“I should just go get some stuff and make myself at home, right?” she heaves a sigh, finally letting her fingers fall from her delicately boned face.

“Not by yourself, we can go after this thing at Art’s.  And just so you know, I’m telling him about all this.” As he speaks, he moves to another drawer, grabbing some socks and a few wife-beaters, tossing them in the duffel bag.

“Tim, you don’t have to do this.” Finally she moves, pushing off from the doorway, and walking on her socked feet to stand beside him, curling her fingers around his arm, and tugging him to face her. 

“Yes I do.  It’s my job.” As she tugs him to face her, he drops the last pair of socks in the bag, and finally looks at her.  She is still the same woman he flirted with, drove insane, that has spent the past two nights in his house, and his bed, and this is not just about his job.  Despite his words, his rough hands slide through her hair, pulling it gently back from her face.

“Really??  Just a job?” one dark eyebrow arches up at him at his words, doubt flickering in her gaze as she looks up at him, “You’re not going to answer that are you?”

“Melissa, we did this weird thing for months, before we ended up here.  I have no idea how I feel about you, but I like having you here.  You make me laugh, you calm me down.  You… I… I’m not taking any risks.  You’re staying here or I’m staying there.” it takes more courage to say those words to her than it took him to go to join up, to go to Afghanistan, to come home and join the marshal’s.  His features soften as he cradles her face in his palm, looking down at her, while ignoring his heart, which is beating painfully against his ribs.

“Would you be more comfortable here?” Melissa knows from the look on his face, the set of his shoulders, that Tim will not give in, and instead, she does.  And somewhere deep down, her instincts push her to trust him; Craig Duncan had creeped her out every time she dealt with him.

 “Would you?” he relaxes, his shoulders dropping a little, as Melissa caves, and he heaves a sigh, he had not been looking forward to a battle of wills with her. 

“Let me bring something to work on while I’m here?” she lifts a brow up at him in question.  Tim’s house is immaculate, and the chaos of her paints and canvases will drive him insane, she knows.  But to spend close to a week without putting paint to canvas or even just sketching, is akin to torture, and her features show it, even with a room full of books to read.

“Like paint??” Her request was not what Tim expected, and it shows on his face, his eyes widening slightly.

“Or draw.  I bought a new sketchbook and some pastels.” One small hand gestures to the bag of stuff from their ill-fated bookstore trip, sitting on the island in the kitchen.

“I saw.  You need light right?  Don’t artists need light?” one worked-roughened hand slips from her hair, and rakes through his own, which almost sparkles red in the light from the windows.

“Yeah, lighting is crucial.” Melissa nods at his words, looking up at him with a resigned look, giving in to his protective nature, while at the same time wanting to have something to keep her occupied.

“Then take the windows in the living room.  Set up there.” He nods towards the living room, and the giant windows where she sat yesterday morning, watching the sunrise.  She can paint there, sketch there, lay there and read if she wants to, anything to keep her where he can watch over her until this court date passes. 

“It’s messy.  You’re going to get annoyed”, she warns him, knowing how much of a clean freak he is, and knowing how messy things get when she is absorbed in a new project.  While she does not relish the idea of staying with Tim, especially under these circumstances, she starts to warm up to the idea.

 “I’ll deal.  On one condition” Tim holds up a hand, lifting one finger, the fingers of his other arm curling around her waist as he speaks.

“What??” her bright gaze sparkles, already she is planning her next work, and is imagining how the light in the living room will be in the afternoons, when she gets off work.

“I get to keep whatever you work on here.” The muscles in his arm bunch as he pulls her to him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, before moving to the duffel bag, starting to empty it out.

“You’d want to keep it??” she blinks, her eyes wide with shock.  Although she is as passionate about painting as she is about books, no one, outside of her family, has asked to keep her work.  

“Consider it rent” Tim smirks at her as he stuffs socks back into a drawer, and then reaching into his closet for a few hangers back up.

“I thought I was paying rent in brownies and breakfast?” although she is still not happy with Tim’s reaction to the Duncan case, and its ties to Boyd Crowder, she grins at him as she turns, walking back towards the kitchen.

“Not just the brownies and breakfast” he is still smirking as she walks away, his eyes dropping to the curves of her behind as she slips towards the kitchen.

“There’s something else?” eagerly Melissa digs into the bag, tugging free the new set of pastels, the sketchbook, the oil paints, and lifting her new book from the bottom of the bag.  She opens the book halfway, and then buries her face in it, inhaling the smell of new paper and ink.

“Yeah… you know that breathy little thing you do, when you’re almost there?” he leans out of the bedroom, one shirt on a hanger, the other flipped over his muscled shoulder, a wolfish grin dominating his face.

Buried in the book, Melissa turns scarlet, and meets his dark gaze over the top of the book, nodding her head, but not speaking.

“That’s rent.  The brownies and breakfast, and the painting, that’s just extra.  Rent is paid when I hear that little whimper in my ears”, he enjoys watching her turn bright pink, his words bringing back the memories of each time he has heard that, and the rush of masculine arrogance it brings.

“Shut up Tim.” Blushing to the tops of her ears, she buries her face in the book, refusing to meet his predatory grin.

“Sure thing Hummingbird.” He turns back to his room, putting away the last of his clothes, and tossing the now empty duffel, the memories suddenly making his jeans too snug to be comfortable.

“Hummingbird??” Melissa frowns in confusion, looking over at the bedroom door where he disappeared to, her embarrassment lost and she follows him to the bedroom, still carrying her new book, art supplies spread out over the kitchen island.

“Yeah, listening to your heartbeat reminds me of a hummingbird.  Especially after you do that breathy little thing you do”, he grins at her, walking back out of the bedroom as she makes it to the doorway, sliding his arms around her waist and burying his baby face in the tender spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Oh my God Tim, shut up.” her heartbeat speeds up, thundering in her ears, and throbbing against his lips as he presses a kiss to her neck.

“Like now... it’s doing it now.” It takes just a few steps for him to have her pinned against the wall, his hands sliding in her hair as his lips lift from her neck to meet hers.

Just as the kiss deepens, Melissa’s phone rings, and she heaves a sigh, breaking the kiss to lean her forehead against Tim’s broad shoulder, “Hate my phone right now.”

“Me too.  Go get it”, Tim sighs, backing away from her, and letting her slip through his arms. 

Melissa picks up her phone from the kitchen counter, and looks down at the caller id, shaking her head as she answers it, “You have the worst timing Raylan.”

“Hour warning darlin’.  This thing at Art’s house starts at noon, and there’s a game on after we eat.” Raylan’s smooth as whiskey voice comes over the phone, mischief sparkling in the older marshal’s eyes, “And I will come get you, and I don’t care if you’re as naked as the day you were born, I’ll drag you out of that house.”

“Dammit Raylan” Tim sighs, leaning his forehead against the wall he had just pinned Melissa to, groaning in frustration.  The man may be right, they may be expected at Art’s house for lunch, but that does not mean Tim appreciates the interruption.

“If you show up here at any point in time, and I’m naked, I will shoot you with one of Tim’s guns.  Preferably the rifle”, Melissa pushes off from the kitchen island, walking to the bedroom, and tugging the navy blue dress she packed on Friday from her bag, tossing it towards the bed.

Tim walks up behind her, holding his hand out for the phone, lifting it to his ear when Melissa gives it up, “Raylan, it’s Tim.”

“No, I thought Melissa might be there with Dunlop.” Raylan rolls his eyes, heaving a sigh as he hears Tim’s voice.

“Shut up.  We gotta talk work after we get there.” Moving to the bed, Tim sits on the foot of it, leaning against the footboard, his gaze taking Melissa in as she starts to dig through her bag.

“It’s the weekend Tim.” The short-tempered marshal cannot help his testy reply, he was looking forward to a few days free of the office.

“You remember that guy that was screaming at Melissa on the phone on Friday?” stubbornly, Tim continues, wanting Raylan to know his nemesis, friend, coal-digging partner, is in town.  And the implications it has for Melissa.

“Nasty son of a bitch.  Didn’t get to read the full report.” At Tim’s tone, Raylan puts the shirt he was holding down, paying closer attention to the phone. 

“He’s got ties to Boyd Crowder.  Who was in town this morning, at the bookstore, we saw him.  At the very least, he knows who Melissa is.” from Tim’s spot on the bed, he continues to watch Melissa, although his gaze is very much that of the sniper, the marshal, and not the man he has been the past two days.

Raylan is suddenly very alert, his brown gaze growing intense, “In town??”

“It gets better.  The Duncan case is up in family court this week, Melissa wants parental rights severed.” One hand rakes through Tim’s hair, his gaze dark as he remembers the case file Melissa had on Craig Duncan. 

“You’ve got that tone you get when you’re worried about something.” Raylan unfolds his frame from the chair he was lounging in, his eyes automatically darting to his gun and badge, sitting on a table nearby.

“Cause I am.” 

“I seriously doubt Boyd would get involved in a custody squabble…”

“Raylan.”

“Fine.  We’ll keep an eye on Melissa this week.” Raylan sighs, pushing himself from his chair and picking up the shirt he abandoned early at the same time.

“She’s staying here until the court date.” Tim ignores the look he gets from Melissa at that, while he knows she isn’t completely happy with the idea, he is not taking any chances either.

“Probably not a bad idea.  I don’t look for Boyd to get involved, but I don’t see Duncan taking this lying down.”

“Not taking any chances.”

“Get to Art’s then, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“Bye.”

By the time Raylan and Tim are done talking, Melissa is torn between being anger, and a sudden rush of real fear.  For Tim to bring it up to Raylan, rather than simply watch her, get a little over-protective, speaks volumes.  A chill skates down her spine, and she wraps both arms around herself, frowning, “Do I need to be worried Tim?”

“Do you want me to say no?  Or be honest?” dropping his phone on the bed, he moves from it, walking across the bedroom until he is standing in front of her.

“That’s a yes.” Her head drops, and she lets the curtain of chocolate dark, silky hair that frames it fall across her face, hiding her sudden rush of fear from Tim.

“I’m not sure.  I do not trust Boyd Crowder, I never have.  He may be up in the holler somewhere, but I’m not taking any risks.” When her head drops, his calloused fingers slide to her chin, tilting it up, as his free hand tucks her hair behind her ears.

“What do I do?  If something happens?” her bright blue eyes are wide with a hint of fear, concern, but she does not panic, instead she stays calm, focusing on Tim, putting her faith in him, knowing he can protect her.  She trusts him to protect her, and that shows in her face.

“I’ll save you.” Her words from last night, when he just barely peeled back the curtain on his childhood, come back to him.  Seeing the look on her face arrows to Tim’s heart, she is concerned, she is almost afraid, but she is trusts him, to keep her safe from harm.  Both powerfully muscled arms come around her small frame, tucking her form against his and her head beneath his chin, “Nothing is going to happen.  I just need to you promise me something.”

“What??” at his words, an echo of what she had told him, she sighs, burying her face in his shirt, her arms curling around his back while she leans into him.

“If something happens, listen to me.  Or Raylan, or whoever is with you.  Listen only to them.  And I’ll save you.” One hand slides to the back of her head, holding her against his shoulder, feeling her warm breath against his neck.  Despite the seriousness of the situation, the dark threat of Craig Duncan hanging over Melissa’s head, his blood heats at the feeling.

“I will”, she doesn’t move from her spot, ignoring their hour warning from Raylan, or her worries for the moment, and merely clinging to Tim, using his comforting presence to calm her nerves.

“Go be all girly, I’m gonna finish up laundry” gently he pushes her from him, steering her towards the bathroom.  If he does not get away from her, they will be late to Art’s, and suddenly the idea of Raylan showing up, as promised, takes a more darker turn, with the possible threats hanging over Melissa’s head.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Perfectly on time, Melissa found herself standing on Art’s front porch, Tim behind her.  One of his hands rested against the small of her back, and the warmth seemed to soak into her skin through the navy blue sun dress she had picked out to wear.  When the door opened, Art stood in front of her, Raylan behind him; both dressed comfortably in jeans and t-shirts, a beer in Art’s hands.

Once inside the house, decorated warmly, smelling like food and candles and clean linens, Melissa is ushered into Art’s office, as he yells over his shoulder to give them a few minutes.  While Raylan stretches his lanky form out in a chair, tipping his hat further over his eyes, Art runs a hand down his face, heaving a sigh, “Why haven’t you said something about this Craig Duncan before?”

“Really Raylan??  Really??” Melissa glares at Raylan, her blue eyes crackling with anger, even as Tim slips one long fingered hand around her waist, pulling her in between his legs as he leans against Art’s desk.  Raylan had told Art, that much was apparent, and Melissa’s spine stays stiff as she is pulled against Tim’s chest.

“Sorry darlin.  Tim is all worked up, and we just have to keep him happy” Raylan ignores the icy look he gets from Melissa, his gaze traveling over her bare legs, an eyebrow lifting when he sees the tattoo on one foot, revealed by the sparkly flip flop she is wearing.

“Forget Tim.  I’m all worked up over this”, Art sighs, leaning across the desk from Tim, his gaze not missing how possessive of the dark haired woman Tim already is.  His instincts were right two days ago, Tim and Melissa were more than a casual fling.  And more than a casual fling meant he needed more bourbon, although for the moment, the chief deputy had more pressing concerns.

“I get this all the--” her words are smothered when Tim moves, his other hand sliding over her mouth and cutting off her words.  Her eyes crackle bright blue fire with anger, as she stands there with Tim’s hand clamped over her lips, but he does not move his long fingered hand from her mouth. 

“We’re not doing this again.  You’re going to… I need you to tell us everything we might need to know.” Tim’s authoritative; marshal tone starts to creep into his words, only to soften when Melissa turns her head to look at him, glaring at him over his hand, “Just humor me Hummingbird.”

“Awww… that’s cute Tim”, Raylan grins at them, fighting back laughter as Melissa turns her glare back to him.  The older marshal realizes that Melissa turns icy when mad, her glare cold, her back straight, her pert nose up in the air.  The look would be intimidating, even as short as she is; except that Tim’s hand has engulfed her mouth still.

Melissa tugs Tim’s hand from her mouth, and heaving a deep sigh, turns her phone’s speaker on as she checks her voicemail.  Within a few seconds, the voice of Craig Duncan blasts through the room, screaming curses, threatening her, letting her know what he thinks of her, her job, and what is going to do to her once he gets  to her, fills the room, “I have 14 more of these, if you want to listen.  They date back to when we first took the girls and he was arrested.”

By the end of the voicemail, Raylan’s relaxed pose is gone, and he is leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees, his brown gaze focused on the phone.  Art is on his computer, pulling Craig Duncan’s records, and Tim is forcing himself to stay calm and relaxed, his touch light on Melissa as the hand that had silenced her rubs her neck.  But his eyes are dark, and he glares at the screen when Art pulls Craig Duncan’s arrest record up.

“Typical arrest record, nothing that yells violent.  But hell, those voicemails are nothing to ignore”, Art takes a sip of the beer he had brought in with him, before folding his arms behind his hand, and lacing his fingers behind his head, “And I hear he has ties to Boyd Crowder.”

“I don’t see Boyd getting himself wrapped up in this”, Raylan shakes his head at Art, relaxing back into his chair once again, although his eyes are anything but relaxed, and continue to flick at Melissa’s cell phone, still sitting on Art’s desk.

“I don’t care if Boyd is involved or not, Melissa can’t be alone”, Tim answers back, without moving, tugging Melissa to him when he feels a tremor go through her.  His free hand rakes through his hair, before settling on her shoulder.

It had been easy to chalk up the voicemails and phone calls to an angry parent, to an abusive, alcoholic, angry parent; and Melissa had done just that, trying to ignore the instinctive trepidation that skated down her spine whenever she had to deal with Craig Duncan.  But sitting in Art’s personal office, watching the chief deputy marshal, Raylan, and Tim, all react to the voicemails, she can no longer ignore the icy fear that glides down her spine, and she shivers, willingly leaning against Tim when he pulls her to him, the angry stiffness fading from her.

“Melissa, you need to pack a bag, we’ll put you up in one of the hotels.  And the next time this happens to anyone at CAPS, they need to let local PD know, or us”, Art flips through the rolodex on his desk, looking for the number to one of the hotels the marshal’s service uses.

“I have it on good authority she’s been at Tim’s house since Friday.  She can always just stay there”, Raylan grins at Melissa and Tim, his grin broadening when Melissa turns scarlet at his words, “There’s the blush.”

“Technically, she should be at a hotel.  And technically, Tim, you should no longer be involved in this”, Art moves, unlacing his fingers from behind his head and reaching for his beer, “But I know you will ignore that, and I know you’ll be with her anyways.  Officially, she is staying with Tim because they have whatever they have going on.  Unofficially… someone needs to be with her until this goes to court.  Which is Thursday?”

Melisa nods at his words, her fingers twisting a silver necklace with tiny blue butterflies around her fingers, one foot bouncing as she looks at Art, her gaze bright against her pale face, “First thing Thursday morning.  It shouldn’t take that long-  both the guardian ad litem and I are in agreement.”

“Will you kiss me if I take you out to lunch sometime this week?” Raylan smirks at Melissa as he pushes himself up out of the chair, stretching to his full height, leaning against Art’s desk in front of Melissa.

“Only if you want me to shoot you.” Tim grins at Raylan over Melissa’s shoulder, smirking at the older marshal, one long fingered hand moving from the back of Melissa’s neck to motion to her long fall of chocolate dark hair, “Besides, she’s not a blonde.”

“I noticed she’s not.  You’ll be fine darlin’, Tim won’t let anything happen to you” The respect and admiration Raylan has for Tim is obvious as he reassures Melissa, walking to the door and tugging it open, “I think it’s time for some food.  And maybe a beer.  Or two.”

Melissa slips outside, followed closely by Tim, and then Art, all of them making their way downstairs.  In the kitchen, Leslie Mullen, stylishly but comfortably dressed, is busy putting together a salad, and through the back doors, the smell of dinner being grilled drifts in.  Art, Tim, and Raylan make their way to the grill, and Melissa finds herself tugged into the kitchen.  Rachel looks up from a cutting board full of vegetables, grinning broadly at her, and Ethel Parsons laughs as she tugs Melissa into the kitchen.


	19. Chapter 19

“All right my dear, spill it”, Ethel resumes her place at the counter, laying out cutlery and napkins, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Spill what??” Melissa turns scarlet, and stalls for time, her fingers twirling her necklace around her fingers again, embarrassment evident on her face, “And how are you here??”

“I’m sorry, ignore them, they’ve been giggling like high schoolers since Raylan came in.  That man gossips more than a woman.  I’m Leslie Mullen”, Leslie turns, her brown eyes warm with a smile as she nods towards a stack of clean glasses, “Make yourself at home and get yourself a glass, we’re getting into the wine.”

“Raylan came in here talking about how you had been at Tim’s all weekend long”, her head buried in chopping vegetables for the salad, Rachel fights laughing, an uncharacteristic giggle escaping her.

“Oh my God.  I am not having this conversation” Melissa buries her face in her palms, propping her elbows on the kitchen counter.

“Leslie and I have been friends for years”, Ethel grins as she finishes her task, moving to pour a glass of wine for Melissa, and sliding it in front of her, “Now, I know your Mama taught you not to kiss and tell… but we’ll ignore that.  We need some details.”

“Did you really go straight to his house from work on Friday?” still grinning, Rachel looks over at her friend, the girl who has somehow managed to curl Tim Gutterson around her pinky finger.

“You two are as bad as teenage girls.  Melissa honey, you don’t have to say anything.” Laughing, Leslie scoops the chopped vegetables into a giant salad bowl, tossing everything together, “But if you do want to kiss and tell, we’re all ears.”

“Not straight from work, I stopped and changed clothes first”, after a sip of wine, Melissa grins wickedly at Rachel, although her cheeks are bright with a blush, “I got tired of being the good girl all the time.”

“About time Melissa”, Ethel laughs, patting Melissa on the shoulder, “I was wondering when you would come out of that shell.”

“I can’t picture you and Tim…” Rachel trails off, shaking her head as she reaches for her own glass of wine.

“Ooooh!!  How was it??!!  He is really good in bed?” Ethel turns back to Melissa, the older woman nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. 

“Ethel Parsons!!  I cannot believe you just said that!” Leslie nearly squeals as she tries to look scandalized, covering her mouth with her hand to keep the sound down, as the men outside turn to look at her.

“Well, I’m still there… so there’s your answer” With a triumphant, wicked smirk adorning her features, as well as a blush, Melissa pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“I knew he would be”, Ethel giggles, smacking at Melissa’s hand.

“You do realize Tim is like my little brother right?” Rachel shakes her head resignedly at them, even as she leans forward on the kitchen counter, “So what have you done all weekend long?”

“Besides fantastic sex?”, Melissa keeps the same smirk on her face, nodding towards where Tim stands, biceps bulging as he folds his hands over his arms, “I didn’t go over there to play tiddlywinks.”

“Melissa!!!” Rachel’s eyes widen in shock, and she sits with her mouth hanging open for a few moments.

“Sorry… well, last night we watched the stars in his backyard.  It was his idea. This morning we went to the bookstore.” Her smirk changes into a softer, sweeter, genuine smile at the memory of the late night star-gazing date.

“Tim had the idea to watch stars?” this time, Rachel’s mouth stays open, her eyes comically wide.

“You told him about that doctor in Austin didn’t you?” a genuine smile lights up Ethel’s face, while she leans over, putting her wrinkled hand underneath Rachel’s chin, and pushing the woman’s mouth closed gently.

“Yeah, and it was his idea to watch the stars afterwards.” Melissa’s smile grows wider, softer still, and she heaves a sigh.  Her blue gaze darting to the doors, and to Tim, who leans against the deck railing, arms folded over each other, watching her.

“My Lord Melissa, that man has it bad for you.” Ethel sighs, a dreamy look in her eyes as she watches Melissa watching Tim.

“Really??” Melissa looks away from Tim, blinking at Ethel in question.  She is suddenly struck with the knowledge that everyone has seen everything, from the initial flirting to the painfully slow, but inexorable dance she had done with Tim, to the final days leading up to Friday.  A hot blush darkens her cheeks, and her summer bright gaze darts back to Tim, who merely meets her gaze with his own, steadily watching her with that devouring look he has.

“Melissa, we have just met.  But judging from how he’s looking at you now, how he’s been looking at you since he went outside, and from what Art has told me, Ethel is right.  That man has it bad.” Leslie interjects, nodding towards Tim, smiling at the looks that have been passing between the two of them.

At Leslie’s words, Melissa lifts her bright azure gaze, peeking out of the corner of her eyes through the back doors, and true to Leslie’s words, Tim is watching her, having picked a spot where he can lean against the deck railing, talk to Art and Raylan and the various marshals there, and watch her.  His eyes are the same they have always been when he looked at her, dark with want, and intent, seeming to strip her out of her clothes as she stands there in the kitchen.  When Melissa sees him, she turns a darker shade of pink, nervously tucking strands of hair behind her ears, while Ethel, having seen the look Tim gave Melissa, fans herself.

“Lord amercy Melissa, how have you not melted into the floor?” fanning herself, Ethel reaches for a glass of iced tea, sipping from it.

“My knees are weak if that makes you feel any better.” Her face dark with a blush, Melissa tucks strands of hair behind her ears, although she smiles at Tim.

“That man is looking at you like you are the last ice cream cone on the hottest day of July.” Leslie peeks at Tim while she sips at her wine, fighting back girlish giggles herself.

“How am I going to sit with the two of you at work tomorrow?” Sighing, Rachel rolls her eyes, already dreading sitting in the same office with both of them in the morning.

“How am I going to sit at work tomorrow with him in the office?” over the top of her wine glass, Melissa looks at Tim, meeting his gaze with her own. 

“You know they’re outside talking about you, right?” Rachel nods towards the back deck, where Art, Raylan and Tim are clustered around the grill, talking and then looking towards Melissa.

“Melissa” Ethel turns, reaching out for one of Melissa’s hands, and curling both of hers around it, “I’m going to give you just one piece of advice.  And please take it.”

“Leave it out of the office?” She looks away from Tim, her bright cerulean gaze settling on Ethel. 

“Get on the pill.  Tomorrow morning, call the doctor, make an appointment and get on the pill.” The older woman shakes her head no at Melissa, before answering her, continuing to pat Melissa’s small hand with her own.

“Oh my God, Ethel… really??” As she chokes on a mouthful of wine, Melissa coughs, covering her mouth with her free hand, while Leslie pats her on the back.

“Honey, both of my children are condom babies.  And the way that man is looking at you, you’ve been using them the past few days.  Get on the pill, or start planning a shotgun wedding.” Ethel smiles at Melissa, the older woman’s hazel eyes twinkling with mirth, and a touch of romanticism.  She is a die-hard romantic, and the budding relationship between Tim and Melissa appeals to the dreamer in her.

“You and Tim would make gorgeous babies.  His coloring, your bright blue eyes”, Leslie grins at Melissa as she puts the bowl of salad on the kitchen counter, next to a few side dishes, “But she’s right.  Either get on the pill, or find something besides just Trojans.  Call the office tomorrow, and I can get an appointment with the doctor for you.”

“Leslie, you must be reading my mind, I said that Friday.” Ethel grins broadly, as Melissa buries her face in her hands, and Rachel rolls her eyes, muttering about calling in sick in the morning.

 


	20. Chapter 20

“Tim, are you going to stand there undressing Melissa in your mind or do we get a little gossip too?” Raylan motions with one hand holding a beer, towards the kitchen, the older marshal snickers at the situation, although he is enjoying the light hearted mood, especially after the meeting upstairs in Art’s office.

“Well Ray-Ray, I was planning on standing here and doing just that.” Tim smirks at Raylan, from his spot, watching Melissa and the other woman talk.  His dark gaze has never left Melissa, and although he is watchful, there is something different there, almost softness, in his gaze.

“She’s really been at your house all weekend long?” one of Raylan’s eyebrows arches in question as he looks over at Tim, disbelief evident in his gaze.

“Yeah, she has”, although Tim wears his usual smirk, his gaze goes back to Melissa inside the kitchen.

“You ready to take her back home yet?” Raylan’s eyebrow remains arched, curiosity evident in his features.

“No.  It hasn’t been weird.  She ran with me yesterday morning, and almost kept up with me.” his pouty lips curve in a smile at the memory, his gaze leaving Melissa and looking over at Raylan.

“Son, that sounds suspiciously like admiration in your voice.” Art looks up from a few hamburgers, raising an eyebrow at Tim pointedly.

“Did you know she paints??” Tim completely ducks Art’s comment, mentioning the newest thing he has found out about Melissa, unwilling to admit to his feelings about Melissa, any more than he admits to anything.

“So she does something beside read?” Raylan leans further into the kitchen to get a better look at Melissa, who is standing at the counter, her blushing face buried in her hands while Ethel and Leslie giggle at her.

“And she can field strip and clean a gun”, this time there is no hiding the admiration in Tim’s voice, and for a moment, it is evident across the features of his face, before he masks it once more, sipping at his beer.

“And she’s probably good in.. wait.. what did you just say??” Raylan turns from looking into the kitchen, to stare at Tim, as Art looks up from the grill once more.

“I let her clean my Glock…  And damn if she wasn’t good at it.” A genuine smile curls Tim’s lips, and he nods towards the kitchen, where Melissa is watching him over the top of her wineglass.

“You know, when the girls were little, they watched Bambi all the time.  Broke the VCR tape on it from watching it so much and I had to buy them a new one”, Art motions back to the house after flipping several steaks over, “But I learned something from that movie.  Twitterpated.  You son, are twitterpated.”

Tim looks over at Art, his features relaxing into a wife, goofy grin, “I am.  She’s smart, she’s funny, she made me an entire pan of brownies… she smells good all the time.”

“The brownies with the cookie on the bottom, and the candy in the middle?  She made you a pan of those?” Both Art and Raylan look at Tim, as Raylan questions him, Art forgetting his steaks, and Raylan forgetting the beer dangling from his fingers.

“Yeah, those.  I asked for them, and she made them for me.  I made dinner and she made dessert.  A real date for once”, Tim cannot help the look of pride, his chest almost puffing out, as he speaks of a real date, in front of both Art and Raylan. 

“Tim, I make it a habit not to meddle in the affairs of my marshals”, Art glares at Raylan for a moment as he speaks, feeling like he should meddle in Raylan’s affairs of the heart, before turning to look directly at Tim, “But I’m telling you right now, marry that girl.  Put a ring on her finger before some other man snatches her up.  Those brownies are sent directly from heaven.  For a pan of those brownies, I’d marry her.”

“So you want me to run out and buy a ring right now?” Tim deadpans, meeting Art’s look with a smirk, “Next you’ll be telling me to knock her up this week too.”

“Seeing as I flunked high school biology, I have no idea how you even go about knocking a woman up” Raylan muses from his beer, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement when Art glares at both of them.

“Laugh all you want to, it does not change things.  You need to make sure Melissa does not slip through your fingers,” grumbling, Art goes back to the grill, starting to slide food onto clean patters waiting nearby, “And we’re not even going to talk about Raylan and women.  There is not enough bourbon in all of Lexington for that talk.”

“What about beer?  Is there enough beer for it?” smirking still, Tim carries a platter of grilled hamburgers and chicken into the kitchen, putting it where Leslie gestures, his gaze searching for Melissa.  She’s sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, the afternoon sunlight setting her hair on fire, and his pianist long fingers curl in an effort to keep from reaching out and running his fingers through her long tresses.

“For what??”, Rachel looks up interestedly, her gaze darting from Tim to Art and Raylan, who come in behind Tim.

“Talk about my love life”, grinning, Raylan sets down another platter, sitting down into a chair at the kitchen table as well.

“No, there is not enough beer in Lexington.  I doubt there is enough beer in Wisconsin to do that”, Rachel rolls her eyes at Raylan, who merely grins back at her from under the brim of his hat.

“Enough bickering.  Y’all are worse than my kids when they were little”, Leslie waves her hands at the food laid out on the counters in her kitchen, “We don’t stand on ceremony Melissa, get you a plate and dig in”. 

In the grass of the backyard are scattered tables, all under shade trees, although the weather is perfect, sunny but cool enough to be comfortable, and it only takes a few minutes for everyone to pick their spots.  Melissa, balancing a plate of food and a wineglass, finds herself steered to a table where Art, Leslie and Ethel all sit. 

Within seconds, Tim is slipping into the chair beside her, scooting it closer to her, looking up innocently as Ethel and Leslie giggle, “What did I do now?”

“You two are like teenagers.  That’s all”, Ethel grins, unfolding a napkin and dropping it into her plate.

“I have to agree with the ladies” Art nods, trying to look wise, but his grin ruins the look.  As he speaks, Raylan and Rachel appear, finding their spots at the table.

“So Melissa, Art tells me I should marry you”, Tim grins at Melissa, who is sitting by him, watching her turn scarlet, “Just because of your brownies.”

Every eye at the table is on Melissa, who for a moment, stares down at her lap.  Even the conversations from the other table, loaded with people as well, die down.  Her eyes sparkling with mischief, despite the blush that rides on her cheeks and colors the tops of her ears, she looks up at Tim, “That’s funny. Ethel told me I needed to get on the pill, or start planning a shotgun wedding.”

At her words, Tim chokes on a mouthful of beer, his eyes going wide with astonishment, which sends the entire table into riotous laughter. 

“Tim, I do believe Melissa just one-upped you.” Art wipes tears of laughter out of his gaze as he speaks.

“She did.” Giggling, Rachel nods to Art’s words, losing her control and laughing again as she looks at the stricken Tim, who sheepishly wipes beer off of his chin.

“She did”, Tim brushes her cheek with the backs of his fingers, finally laughing at himself.

“Sorry, you made it too easy.” Melissa grins over at Tim, although her lashes drop when his fingers caress her cheek.

“Remember what you told me, payback’s a bitch?” Tim leans over to whisper in Melissa’s ear, as the conversation starts back up again, “I’m gonna remember this.”

“I still owe you for that giant hickey on my hip”, Melissa leans back to whisper her response back to him, giggling when Raylan kicks Tim underneath the table.

“Behave.  Or do we need to separate you?” Raylan grins at them, laughing when Melissa blushes, and Tim glowers at him, before digging into his food. 

Throughout dinner, Raylan and Art tease Tim, who in turn teases Melissa, who turns bright red.  While Tim is getting a second helping of dinner, he finds Melissa cutting into a cake for Nelson Dunlop, who is talking animatedly with Melissa about his family, while looking at Melissa near adoringly when she holds out dessert to him.  Her years growing up in the St. Germain household, a family known for their old fashioned Southern manners and charm on every Army post they lived on; serve her well.  By the end of dinner, everyone has met Tim’s gaze with a smile or nod of approval.  Raylan’s gaze never strays far from her, the older marshal smiles when Melissa twists every man she meets around her fingers with a smile or a thank you, and Tim grows more possessive in his quiet way, his fingers resting on her back or shoulder, by the minute as everyone eats, and Raylan grows more amused.  The conversation at dinner flows from work to sports back to work, until finally, Art pushes away from his spot, and makes for the den, where a giant screen tv, over-stuffed couches, a recliner, and more beer waits. 


	21. Chapter 21

The dark-haired social worker slips into the kitchen, chewing on her lip thoughtfully as she surveys the damage done to Leslie’s kitchen.  Ethel and Leslie have moved to a small living room, and are pouring over catalogs, discussing ideas for Ethel’s house, and with a few wives and girlfriends discussing their lives on the back deck; Melissa has the kitchen to herself.  Ignoring Leslie’s words of not cleaning up, Melissa tucks her long hair behind her ears, and starts to load the dishwasher.

 “Don’t break his heart Melissa”, Raylan strolls into the kitchen, sitting on a chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him; with his hat off, he looks less imposing, more relaxed.  But ever watchful, as his brown eyed gaze takes in Melissa, now barefoot, as she cleans the kitchen.  His respect for her increases, few women would take on the job of cleaning up.  The women invited did not, even Winona had stayed out on the back deck, the last time she had come to one of the Mullen’s get-togethers.  Further proof, Raylan realized, that Melissa was different, from what he was used to, and he knew she was different from what Tim was used to.

She can feel the blush heating her cheeks, as she rinses each plate before sitting it in the dishwasher, “I wasn’t aware I had his heart Raylan.”

“I’m not sure if you do or not. But when you get it, don’t break it”, his chin lifts as he nods towards the doors out of the kitchen, where the guys are yelling at the tv over a blown call, “He may be a smart-ass, and he might annoy me some days… but I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Raylan, I never hurt anyone.  I’m always the girl that gets hurt”, Melissa smiles despite her words, seeing the bond of friendship, of understanding, between Raylan and Tim, “And I get it.  You have to look out for each other.  You’re the same side of the coin you know.”

“I didn’t take you to be so perceptive” Raylan’s gaze focuses back on Melissa, drawn away from his thoughts, and he appraises her once more.

“I have to be, it’s part of my job.  And I have two big brothers, I get how it is” She tosses a towel to him, and motions to the table behind him.  “If you’re gonna give me the speech, make yourself useful.”

One eyebrow rises at her words, before Raylan pushes himself to his feet, and starts to wipe down the table, “Two brothers?”

“Yep.  I’m the baby” The last dish loaded into the machine, Melissa fills it with detergent, and turns it on, before opening the fridge, and sliding the containers of left-overs in it.

“Why Tim??” Raylan’s chore done, he drops the towel by the sink, and takes his spot back, slouching comfortably in his chair. 

Melissa shuts the fridge door, and then leans against it, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, “Why not Tim?”

“I just figured you for the office type.  Not a marshal.” Raylan shrugs, taking a sip from the beer he had carried in with him.

“No office types.  I don’t really have a type.  Tim is… different.  He didn’t fall all over himself and try to impress me.  He didn’t treat me like I was some young little girl on her first day in the office.  He’s always a smart ass, and I appreciate sarcasm,” she grins, pushing away from the fridge and moving to sit in a chair next to Raylan, who turns to face her, “Now, you gonna tell me what you’ve got going on with Rachel?”

“What??” Raylan blinks, before shaking his head no at her words, “Nothing.  I mean, she’s a friend, and I work with her, but no.  Not like that.”

“Raylan, I’ve seen the looks between the two of you.  You need someone like her.” Melissa’s blue eyes roll heavenwards at his words, and she shakes her head no to him.

“Like her?” Blinking in confusion, Raylan looks over at Melissa, his fingers pushing his beer around in slow circles on kitchen table.

“Yeah, someone to get you out of your own head, someone who isn’t all fluff and makeup.  Someone who can put up with your particular brand of bullshit, and give it back to you.  Someone who understands how high maintenance you are, and can deal with it,” Melissa stretches her legs out in front of her, propping her bare feet on the rung of a chair next to her.

“No.  Things with Winona are…” he shakes his head at her words, waving them away with one long fingered hand.

Melissa holds up a slim hand, shaking her head no back at him, “Absolutely fucked up.  She’s not right for you, she never has been.  It’s time to admit defeat, that war has been lost.”

“I always thought I preferred blondes”, Raylan mused over his beer while looking at Melissa.

“Maybe it’s time to change your preferences.  You need Rachel, and not just as a friend.” From her spot on a chair, Melissa nods sagely, her fingers curling around her wine glass. 

“So now you’re tryin’ to set me up on a date with her?” Raylan looks at Melissa, then down at his beer, as if wondering how much he has to drink.

“No Raylan.  I’m just trying to make you see that you need someone like her, and less like what you’ve had in the past.  Take my advice or don’t, that’s on you.  But you have to admit, you have the worst damn taste in women.” One slim shoulder lifts in a shrug as Melissa speaks,

“Touché.  Y’know, you curse a lot.” He grins at her, before taking another sip of his beer, setting it back down on top of the kitchen table and slouching further in his chair.

Melissa blushes, the color darkening the freckles on her nose, “It gets my point across.”

“It does”, Raylan nods to her, picking at the label on his beer for a moment, before looking over at her again, “Rachel’s married.”

“Not for much longer, papers are waiting on signatures”, Melissa sips at her wine, studying the polish on her toes as she speaks, frowning as she sees the paint on one toe is chipped, before looking over at Raylan again, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t take her marriage falling apart lightly, but I don’t think she’s been happy for a long time.”

“She hasn’t”, the answer comes from the doorway, where Tim leans against the door frame.  His answer gives away how long he has stood there, and his unnoticed presence gives away how good he is at sneaking up on people. 

Raylan jumps, glaring at Tim, “You need to wear a bell or something.”

“Like a house cat??” Tim smirks at the idea, shaking his head no, one hand holding a bottle of soda, having switched off of beer at dinner. 

“So Melissa, I hear you’re good at cleaning a gun”, Raylan steers the conversation back away from the disaster that is his love life, nodding towards Tim, who still lounges against the door frame, “He was bragging about it.”

She grins at his words, one dark eyebrow lifting in question back at Tim, “Oh he was??  And yeah, I’m pretty good at shooting one too.”

“That may be something one of us finds out this week”, Tim pushes off from the door frame, walking almost soundlessly to them, and sits down behind Melissa.

“Think we should take her to the range?” Raylan looks over at Tim, understanding in his gaze. 

“Might be a good idea.” Tim nods back in agreement, stretching back into the chair until he is comfortable.

“Gentlemen, let me remind you that I’m right here.  And my hearing works perfectly fine” She glares at she says it, looking first at Tim and then at Raylan; despite her words, and the glare, she lifts her bare feet, propping them in Tim’s lap. 

“Melissa, Raylan and I think it might be good for you to go the range this week.” For a moment Tim almost pouts at the tone in Melissa’s voice, but he grins when her small feet end up in his lap.

“All things considered” Raylan adds with a smirk, seeing Melissa grow testy as they talk about her in front of her, but also seeing how casual she is around Tim, how effortlessly comfortable the dark-haired woman is with Tim.  For a moment, Raylan wants that kind of comfortable, something he has never had with a woman, wants the easy relationship that he sees playing out in front of him.

“Still think y’all are blowin this clean out of proportion”, Melissa drawls, reaching for her wine glass, and finishing it off.

“When nothing happens on Thursday, you can tell us that.  Until then, you’re at Tim’s” wearing his trademark smirk, Raylan takes a sip of his beer, “And seeing as I flunked biology, according to Tim, I have no idea what you’ll be doin’ there.”

“How much of this am I going to have to put up with at work tomorrow?” She heaves a sigh, rolling her bright gaze at Raylan. 

“A lot more.” Raylan laughs, taking a sip of his beer, and stretching further out in his chair, “No one has ever seen Tim with a girl.  He’s never romanced a girl.  I find it all rather humorous.”

“It’ll be worth it though”, Tim grins at both of them, the fingers of one hand tracing over the hearts tattooed on the top of Melissa’s foot. 

“So tell me… Hummingbird?” the older marshal’s dark gaze is locked on Tim’s hand as it traces over the tattoo on Melissa’s foot.  Raylan tries to remember if Winona had ever done that, if he had ever had a woman just put her feet in his lap and relax, and it seems the answer is no.

“Ask Tim.” Melissa turns scarlet at the question, remembering Tim’s reasons for the nickname, and looks over at Tim, her blue eyes bright with embarrassment.

“Her heartbeat is always fast.  Reminded me of a hummingbird.” Tim lifts one shoulder in a shrug, although his gaze is bright with wicked humor. 

“Didn’t figure you to be a nickname sorta guy.” Raylan shakes his head in disbelief at Tim, shocked by the man that sits before him.  Tim is still the same cynical, jaded, smart-assed man he always been, but he has a soft spot for Melissa, and it shows.

“Didn’t figure you to have a thing for Rachel”, his words reveal how long Tim had listened to their conversation, and that he has thought the same thing, and the barb shakes Raylan out of his disbelief at this new Tim sitting in front of him.

Immediately Raylan is on the defensive, shaking his head no emphatically, too emphatically, at Tim, “I do not have a thing for-“

“Who??  That girl from the District Attorney’s office?” Rachel slips into the kitchen, breaking the conversation up, only to be stopped in her tracks by Ethel and Leslie, who lean out from the living room, where they have been talking decorating.

“’Scuse us gentlemen, but we need the girls.” Leslie gestures to Melissa and then to Rachel, pushing doors to the den further open.

“You’ll get her back Tim, I promise” Ethel grins at Melissa, who buries her face in her hands.

“We need a couple more opinions on plans for Ethel’s house.  Rachel, your place is gorgeous, and Ethel tells me Melissa has a pretty little house too”, Leslie smiles at the group in her kitchen.  The marshals all feel like family, truth be told they are part of her extended family, and the idea of Tim with someone makes her as happy as the idea of her kids finding someone. 

“C’mon Melissa, we’re being summoned”, Rachel pours herself another glass of wine, and then holds the bottle out to Melissa.  With refilled glasses, the girls walk into the living room, leaving Tim and Raylan sitting at the kitchen table.

“I like her Tim.  More than I did before.” Raylan nods towards the living room, where the girls have retreated to.  But his gaze had stayed on Rachel longer than usual, as Melissa’s words had started to creep into his mind.

“Thanks.. I appreciate that.” Tim relaxes, a barely perceptible thing, but his body somehow leans differently in the chair, as if he had been holding his breath somehow. 

“You need someone to pull you out of your bullshit.” Raylan nods sagely, looking for all the world like someone who knows what he is doing with a relationship. 

Tim snorts, shaking his head at Raylan, “Same goes for you.”

“We’re not talking about me.  We’re talking about you.  And Melissa.” Raylan’s dark hair, shot through with hints of gray, that are becoming more noticeable by the day, falls into his golden brown eyes as he shakes his head no. 

“Oh??” from over the top of his bottle of soda, Tim looks at Raylan, amusement dancing in his gaze.  Watching Raylan refuse to talk about his women troubles, is a never ending source of humor for the former sniper.

“Yep.  What’s she like?” the older marshal nods, before gesturing to the living room, where Melissa disappeared to. 

“She’s… smart.  Artistic.  She gets all soft and sweet when she’s tipsy.” At first, Tim shrugs one muscled shoulder, before he smiles at the memory of Melissa, tipsy and leaning against his chest in a bubble bath.

“And??” He shifts, moving forward until he can prop his elbows on his knees. 

“And what Raylan?” Again, Tim shrugs, still keeping most of himself, and his feelings for Melissa, to himself. 

“You like her.” But Raylan reads Tim better than anyone else, and has seen the changes in Tim, the quiet, barely noticeable changes, that the younger marshal tries to hide. 

“Yeah I did.  If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have her at my house.” Tim grins at Raylan, sipping his beer, before Art yells for them from the den, “We’re missing the game.”

“Didn’t you put money on it?” Slowly, Raylan pushes himself up from the table, grabbing his beer and walking out of the kitchen, heading to the den. 

“Nah, a free day off.” Finishing his soda, Tim tosses the bottle into the trash on his way out of the kitchen, hearing the sounds from the den, the game, yelling at the tv, and the quiet murmur of voices from the living room.  His dark gaze strays to the doors, pulled shut, knowing Melissa is inside, and wondering what is going on behind those closed doors.

 


	22. Chapter 22

For quite some time, Melissa and Rachel poured over the catalogs and magazines spread out in front of them.  Selecting colors and fabrics and prints, until Ethel had more suggestions than she had rooms, Melissa had been in her element, mixing colors and prints, her artistic eye pulling each room together.  But the four of them had stayed in there, hidden away from the gossiping wives and girlfriends, the endless chatter more than any of them could take. 

“You’re going to give me a painting, right?” Ethel smiles at Melissa, her hazel eyes warm with affection as she motions to a picture of a couch she liked, “Something to hang over the couch.”

“I have one that would work, but it’s not finished”, Melissa smiles back at Ethel, a blush spreading over her cheeks.  Ethel had taken Melissa under her wing the first day she had come to Lexington, and Melissa had spent quite a few evenings at Ethel’s house, nursing a cup of tea and patching her broken heart back together.

“Alright, enough house talk” Leslie pushed the catalogs to one side, setting down several plates and forks, as well as a pie, topped with a heap of meringue.  Deftly she cut into it, laying a piece on each plate, and adding a fork as well, “I hid this from the boys.  No telling Art, but he does not need the extra calories.”

“Melissa, in the morning, you might want to wear something that covers your neck” Rachel snickers, her eyes taking in the faint mark that adorns Melissa’s collar bone. 

Melissa turns bright pink, tugging the collar of her shirt over the faint mark, but grinning wickedly, “You should see the one I have on my hip.  And if you’re really brave, ask Tim if you can look at his shoulders.”

“What the hell did you to do to his shoulders?” Rachel blinks in confusion, while both Ethel and Leslie giggle, “Wait... Oh… oh my God.  You win.  I’m done.”

“You know Melissa, of all the things Ethel told me about you; this was not one of them.  I was expecting this shy little girl, not a grown woman who has Tim curled around her pinky finger”, Leslie laughs, setting her plate down.

“I knew she had this in her, I was just waiting for it to come out.  That district attorney is going to be so disappointed” Ethel grins, winking at Melissa.

“I am so glad Tim has found someone.  I don’t know how much more I could take, his puppy dog eyes, sitting on my couch.” Leslie nods towards the den, where everyone else is cheering at the game, “Art treats him like a son, he might as well be ours, and it breaks my heart every time he ends up here.  He always seems a little lost.”

Rachel nods to Leslie’s words, “My Mom is the same way.  Feeds him every time he comes to the house, fusses over him, makes him bring her shirts so she can iron them.  She was thrilled when I said you two had gone out on a date.”

Melissa turns pink at their words, but cannot help the smile that curls her lips, “I’m pretty fond of him.”

“Twitterpated” Leslie smiles, leaning over to pat her shoulder, “The word you’re looking for is twitterpated.”

Melissa laughs, nodding her head at Leslie in agreement, “Yeah I am.”

Ethel turns her hazel gaze to Rachel, “And now for you.  What is going on between you and Raylan?”

It is Rachel’s turn to choke, her eyes watering, while a laughing Melissa pats her on the back, “There is no me and Raylan.  We work together, he’s a friend.  That’s it.”

“Honey, that man is figuring out that you’re a woman.  Now that Winona is out of the picture, and I hope it’s the last time she’s in it”, Leslie wrinkled her nose at the mention of Raylan’s ex, “He needs someone better.”

“But... I’m…” Rachel protested, shaking her head as she gave up, and instead reaching for her glass of wine.

“Fixin' to be un-married.  You told me you needed to sign the papers and that was it,” Melissa pointed out, her blue gaze locked on Rachel, “You need someone better.  So does Raylan.”

“Melissa’s right sweetie”, Ethel nods in agreement, leaning back on the couch and getting comfortable, setting her empty plate down.

Rachel sighs and says nothing, merely swirling the wine around in her goblet, her eyes dark with pain for a moment.  Melissa moves, bumping her shoulder against Rachel’s, “Get out of your head.”

“So says the girl who does the exact same thing”, Rachel bumps her should back into Melissa’s, before shaking off her thoughts, “No matter if I’m married or not, Raylan is not capable of having a relationship with any woman.”

“He’s not capable of having a relationship with the women he’s picked”, Leslie corrects, shaking her head no at Rachel.

“Winona isn’t that bad”, Melissa half-heartedly protests, feeling bad for picking on the woman.

“You’re right; she’s not bad as a person.  She’s flawed, but honey, we all have flaws.  But she is horrible with Raylan.  Always has been, put that man through the ringer when he was at Glynco.  Raylan has done everything she ever wanted, and she leaves him… and I’m gonna hush now”, Leslie heaves a sigh, taking a sip of her wine and leaning against the couch.

The doors to the living room slide open, and Tim peeks in, the look on his face growing unsure as he sees all of the women sitting on the couch or chairs around a coffee table, “I’m not sure if I can handle all the estrogen in this room…”

“Has Prince Charming come for our princess?” Ethel smiles up at him, gesturing towards Melissa. 

A blush creeps up over his cheekbones at Ethel’s words, and he nods, “Yeah, game is one-sided.  And we have a stop to make.”

Melissa moves, pushing herself to her feet, and picking up her plate and wine glass, “I think that means my coach is waiting.”

The women all rise, walking with them into the kitchen, and Leslie turns to Melissa, scolding her, “Melissa, I told you not to clean up.  You’re a guest.”

“I had help, Raylan wiped everything down” Melissa grins, putting her plate and wine glass in the sink.

“Tim, you did good.  She’s a keeper” Leslie smiles at Tim, giving him a hug and patting his back.

“Course I did.” Tim sasses Leslie, but hugs her to him for a moment, his affection for her evident.

“And honey, you’re welcome in this house anytime”, Leslie wraps Melissa in the same hug, who returns it, before being tugged away by Tim. 

Ethel hugs Melissa, as does Rachel, as does Art, and then Melissa finds herself wrapped in Raylan’s arms, as the tall marshal hugs her to him, “Bye darlin.  Be careful.”

Tim steel blue gaze meets Raylan’s golden brown one over the top of Melissa’s head, a look of understanding passing between them at Raylan’s words, and the former sniper tugs Melissa from Raylan gently, “Bye everyone.”

“Oh, by the way, Ethel, Raylan said he wanted you in the office and not Melissa”, grinning, Tim slides his hand over Melissa’s back, guiding her through the front doors and towards his truck.  Once they are out in the open air, he heaves a sigh, raking a hand through his hair as he shuts the passenger door after Melissa is tucked into the seat. 

“I survived” Melissa grins at him, relaxing against the seat after turning the heat controls on.

“You charmed the pants off of everyone.  I think Dunlop was eating out of your hand at one point in time”, Tim smirks over at her, turning the ignition over, looking down the street, and then behind them, before driving away.

From the doorway, Art watches, sighing as he watches Tim pull away.  Leslie slips behind him, peeking over his shoulder as Tim and Melissa leave, “You have that look on your face that says you’re worried.”

“I’m always worried about something.” Art grumbles, but leans back against his wife, heaving a heavy sigh.

“This is different”, gently, Leslie rubs the back of Art’s neck with one hand.

“Tim is falling for that girl.  If something happens, on top of everything else that has happened to him…” heaving a heavy sigh, Art continues to watch out the front door, seeing the brake lights of Tim’s truck recede in the distance.

“I take it from the meeting upstairs earlier that something is going on?” with her free hand, Leslie motions towards the second floor of the house, and Art’s office upstairs.

“Just enough of something to have Tim’s nerves on edge.” His gaze momentarily strays to his wife, before going back out the front door.

“Let him protect her.  And he will.  Tim will move mountains to protect the people he cares about, and that includes Melissa now.” Leslie steps away from Art, moving back towards the living room, where Ethel and Rachel have taken up residence again. 

“That’s what I’m worried about.  But if I tell him to back off and let Raylan take over, he won’t listen.” Reluctantly, as if something will happen the moment he moves, Art closes the door. 

“Then let things go.  Get back to your game.” Despite her early words about her husband not needing the extra calories, Leslie slips into the living room, and comes back out with a piece of pie on a plate, which she holds out to Art.

“It’s lopsided, they can’t catch up.” While Leslie is still holding the plate, Art takes his first bite, before taking the plate from her. 

“Then help me pick out new carpet for the den?” grinning, knowing what his answer will be, Leslie motions towards the living room, Ethel and Rachel are buried in the catalogs once more, discussing colors for curtains.

“I think I’ll take my chances with the game.” Art walks back towards the game, the cheering growing louder, “I think they might be catching up.

 


	23. Chapter 23

True to Melissa’s word, her home was free of cats, and just one teddy bear sat on a desk in her room.  The ribbon around its neck was old, the ends fraying, and one eye had been sewn back on, but it held a treasured spot on a small desk in her bedroom, next to pictures of her family. 

There were pictures of her and her brothers, she had different features than the two men, but all three had the same dark hair, and piercing, bright blue eyes.  A picture of Melissa and her mother together revealed to Tim’s gaze that Melissa favored her mother’s side of the family, the same pert nose, the same high cheekbones, and the same dimple when she smiled.  A picture of her brothers drew his interested gaze, both in uniforms, one an officer, one enlisted.  Both were grinning, standing in front of a helicopter, with the mountains of Afghanistan behind them, and they were holding up a sign, GO STUDY MISSY!!! 

Tim’s mouth quirked into a smile at the picture, even from a war zone, they were bossing Melissa around, probably during college.  From the bathroom, he can hear Melissa rummaging through a cabinet, and he takes some time to look at her room, the walls are decorated with paintings, mostly of sunsets and sunrises, the mountains in Kentucky, a field of blue bonnets from Texas.  The bed, covered in a white quilt embroidered with blue and pink flowers, was more than wide enough for both of them, the thought causes Tim’s smile to turn into a smirk, matching curtains hung along the bank of windows, and a dresser displayed Melissa’s jewelry, dominated by butterflies.  Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, nearly every piece of jewelry the woman owned had a butterfly on it somewhere, his calloused fingers gently traced over the charms.  Melissa emerged from the bathroom, carrying a fuller toiletry bag to her bed, where clothes to last her until Thursday were carefully laid out.  

One long fingered hand carefully snags a pair of panties from a stack of clothes, tiny triangles of lace, held together by slim pieces of fabric, grinning, he dangles them from his fingers, “You wear these to work??”

Distracted, Melissa turned to him, looking up from packing her bag, and she blinks at the sight of Tim fondling a pair of her panties, while her face seems to burn from the blush that decorates her cheeks, “Maybe…”

“Hummingbird, if I knew you wore those under your clothes, I would have taken you out for lunch earlier”, still grinning, a smug, masculine grin, Tim tosses her panties into the bag, and then eases onto her bed. 

“I like feeling like a girl.  I get sweaty and tired dragging kids around, I have to sit and listen to parents screaming all day, and I spend hours in my car, driving around.  Lacy panties make me feel girly”, still blushing, she packs the panties, and the last of her clothes, into the bag, adding the smaller bag.

“You are a girl.  You run like a girl, you smell like a girl”, while Melissa was answering him, Tim had slipped from his spot on the bed, and stood up, standing beside her, leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in, “And you don’t feel girly??”

“At the end of the day I don’t”, she ducks out from underneath Tim, as chills skate down her spine, while reaching for more clothes to tuck into her bag, “No distracting me.”

“These”, Tim leans forward and tugs the panties from the bag once more, “have completely distracted me.”

Melissa’s blush fades, and her smile turns positively wicked, “I wore a pair like that today.”

“Really?” for a moment, Tim forgets why she is packing, why she is leaving her home and coming to his for a few days, and one eyebrow arches as he looks down at her, his gaze slowly sliding down his body.

“Yeah… and if you want to see them….” Slowly, teasingly, Melissa leans up to him, until her body is just barely brushing against his, “You have to ask me nicely.”

His eyes almost glaze over, almost lose the focus that never seems to completely fade from him, before he shakes his head, blinking a few times, “Not now.  We’re not doing this now.  Damn vixen.”

Grinning wickedly still, Melissa turned back to packing, and within a few minutes, while Tim walked around the house, checking all the windows, making sure the back door was locked, she was done.  He found her in her combined office and studio, and simply stood in the doorway, taking in the artwork that was all over the room.  One wall she had painted to look like the inside of a castle, with stone walls, tapestries hanging on them, armor on a stand, and baby dragons on the windows, playing in the sunlight painted on the walls.  The opposite wall, Melissa had painted to look like a Texas sunset, the golden light blazing down on a field of blue bonnets.  He had seen similar sights driving through the state for work, and always appreciated it.  The walls she had not actually painted, Melissa had hung portraits of the kids from work, some happy, some not, some with adults, some on their own.  But one large painting, propped against the wall, caught his attention and held it. 

While Melissa dug through her files, selecting the ones she would need for the week, Tim walked over to it.  He recognized the scene, he had been at that house, Raylan had, being Raylan, shot someone, arrested someone else, and Rachel and Tim had been brought out in the aftermath.  He remembered the little girl; Rachel was painted carrying her down the stairs, one arm wrapped protectively around the girls back.  The little girl’s small fingers were wrapped around Tim’s, holding on for dear life as he walked behind Rachel, and behind Tim came Raylan, carrying a small suitcase. 

“That was first arrest I remember seeing you at”, although Tim spoke to Melissa, his dark blue gaze never left the painting.  It was the three of them, as they always were, together at work, pulling together to help someone. 

“It was the first one I went to for the Marshals”, Melissa could not stop the blush that bloomed across her cheeks as Tim studied the painting, “It struck me that the three of you are always together, always trying to right the world’s wrongs.”

“Can…. Can I have it?” finally, Tim looks over at Melissa, one hand gesturing back down to the painting, as if he might be mentioning another one.  He does not say that Rachel and Raylan have become his family, the only family he has, have held him together through some dark times, have helped him right wrongs and just been there for him. 

“If you want it” Melissa smiles at Tim, her face lighting up at his question, “Be careful picking it up, some of the paint may not be dry yet.”

Tim nods, stepping back from his new painting, almost bouncing up and down with excitement for a moment, looking for the entire world like a teenage boy for a few moments, and not the battle-hardened veteran, not the sniper, not the marshal, “Where should I hang it?”

“Most people hang pictures of their family up where everyone can see them”, her files packed into a briefcase, Melissa turns, crossing the room to stand beside Tim, her gaze tracing over the painting once more.  She loved this painting, technically it was good, one of the best she had done, but, having come to know the three people in it, and the close knit relationship they shared, it meant more to her. 

“They’re not…” Tim flushes, realizing that yet again, Melissa has seen through him, and he stumbles over his words for a moment.

“Yes Tim, they are.  They’re the family you’ve built for yourself.  We all have two families, the family we’re born into, and the one we make for ourselves.  That is the family that means the most to us”, she rises onto tiptoe, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, before turning and walking towards the door.

Gingerly, Tim picks the painting up, and carries it from her office, leaving the room reluctantly.  Despite Melissa’s words about painting being messy, the art side of the room was picked up, brushes organized by type, tubes of paint organized by type and color and tightly shut, blank canvases stacked by size, leaning against a spot on the wall.  It was a creative place, somewhere he could easily picture Melissa spending all of her free time, but it lacked the chaos he was expecting.  He would be comfortable here, he realizes, reading, while Melissa painted, and suddenly he wants to spend an afternoon doing just that.

“Are you sure I need to leave?” Melissa pauses in the doorway of her home, key in the lock, as Tim stands on the porch, the painting safely tucked into his truck, he had come back to make one last sweep around the house before they left.

“Am I sure??  No.  But I’d rather you leave and come back when this is over, than stay here and get hurt.” He waits for her to move, his gaze locked on her fingers, which have yet to pull the key out of the lock on her front door.

“I’m not a weak person.  I don’t need to be rescued.  Please tell me you’re not trying to rescue me”, heaving a sigh, Melissa tugs the key from the lock, and drops her keys into her purse.

“I know you’re not weak, and I’m not trying to rescue you.  I’m trying to keep from having to rescue you”, taking a witness from their home, and protecting them, has never been as hard as having Melissa stay with him for a few days.  Tim knows how independent she is, has watched her build a career for herself here, has seen the home she has created for herself; and taking her from that is not easy.  But the urge to protect her overwhelmed his sympathy at her temporary loss of independence.

“Since we’re staying so close, what’re we doing with my truck?  Wouldn’t Craig Duncan know it by now?” Melissa walks to Tim’s truck, only making it a few steps before Tim takes her bag from her.

“You’re going to leave it in my garage, and ride with me to work.  Once you’re at work, I’ll take a marshal car and leave you my truck”, Tim drops her bag onto the floorboard behind his seat, leaning away from his truck for a moment, his dark blue eyes scanning the street, “Or you can take a marshal car, if you want to, since one of us will be with you, I don’t think Art will care.”

“You’ve thought this through” Melissa manages a small smile, taking comfort in the knowledge that Tim is protecting her with all of his skills, even as she struggles with the loss of her freedom for a couple of days.  Part of her still rebelled at the idea of leaving her home, **her** home, but part of her trusted Tim enough to follow his lead on this.  His instincts, along with Raylan’s, were legendary, and if they both felt she needed to be gone for a few days, then she would go.  Her independence be damned.

“I had just enough time to come up with something” Tim grins at her, relaxing as Melissa smiles at him, taking the small smile as a win, and starts his truck, backing out of her driveway, and heading the few blocks to his house. 

 


	24. Chapter 24

His rifle still needed to be cleaned, and Tim had settled into the dining room to finish it.  From the creaking of the back door, he knew she was outside, and after peeking through the windows to make sure she was fine, he went back to his rifle.  The routine soothed him, calming his nerves, and as he left his thoughts wander, they went to Melissa.  Earlier she had been accepted by the people that meant the most to him, she had been able to calm him down when few could, she was independent enough to argue with him, but listened to reason when he needed her to.  She trusted him, enough to keep her safe. 

As he had mulled over his thoughts, he reassembled his rifle, and after putting it back in its case, left it sitting on the table.  Stopping for a beer, he made his way to his living room, past the spot where his new painting was leaning against the wall, waiting to be hung, watching Melissa through the windows.  She was deep in thought, her brow furrowed, pastels spread out on the table around her, her fingers tracing over the paper, lighting smudging the colors.  A smear of purple rode on her cheekbone, and blues were smeared across her fingers, the effect utterly charming, and Tim smiled, leaning against the windowsill as he continued to watch her. 

Melissa chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought, before putting the pastel she was holding down, and leaning back.  Heaving a sigh, she flipped the sketchbook shut, and started to put away the pastels, tucking them neatly into place.  As she cleaned up, she heard soft footsteps, and looked up to find Tim standing in front of her, grinning at her.  Gently he rubbed his roughened fingers over her cheek, rubbing the pastel off, before leaning forward to kiss her forehead.  Her arms curled around his waist, and she leaned into his shoulder, heaving a sigh. 

“Movie??  I’ve got junk food in the kitchen, we could have a movie night”, Tim looked up, the sky was just darkening with evening, and suddenly he wanted to snuggle with Melissa on the couch, letting a movie keep his mind occupied.

“You’ve got brownies to finish too” she grinned against his shoulder, leaning into him, smudges from one cheek smearing pastel across his shirt.

“See?  Everything we need for movies”, Tim drops his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He is aware that Melissa is pulling tenderness out of him, pulling emotions that he keeps carefully in check, out, little by little.  But her presence in his life, a life that has always been lonely, is balm to his wounded soul, and for more of her, he will give up the emotions he keeps so carefully locked away.  Even if he can only let those emotions out a little at a time, “Do I get a peek??”

Melissa leans back, following his gaze to her sketchbook, and she shakes her head no, the move sending her hair falling into her eyes, “Not until I’m done.  And I’m not there yet.”

Curiosity gleams in Tim’s dark blue eyes for a moment, but he nods to her words, “If I don’t get to see what you’re working on, I get to pick the movie.”

“Deal”, she pulled away, gathering up her art supplies, and walking back into the living room.  She had taken Tim at his word, and in front of the wide bank of windows sat the art supplies she had brought, all spread out across the window seat.  While Melissa puts her sketchbook and pastels up, he moves, walking over to the DVDS he has tucked into the entertainment center, eyes dark blue eyes wandering over the alphabetically arranged titles. 

From the kitchen, he hears the microwave start, and within a few seconds, the smell of popcorn is drifting through the house.  Melissa emerges from the bedroom, dressed in a pair of pink pajama shorts so short Tim realizes he can see the curves of her behind, and a matching tank top.  Movie forgotten, he follows her into the kitchen with the grace of a predator, catching her at the microwave, and tugging her backwards into his arm, “You know, I’m fairly certain those shorts are illegal.”

“They’re comfy”, she smiles over her shoulder at him, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.  While she was changing clothes, she had scrubbed the makeup she put on earlier off.  Now, smelling like Noxema, with her freckles showing against her porcelain skin, and wearing pink shorts with sequined hearts on them, she looked more like a teenager than the career-minded, soft-hearted woman she really was.

“And tiny,” lending credence to his words, one hand slid down her back, pinching the bare skin visible underneath the hem of her shorts.

A yelp had Tim laughing as Melissa leaned away from him, opening the microwave door and tugging a steaming bag of popcorn from it.  While Melissa poured the popcorn into a bowl, Tim grabbed the last of his brownies, and a couple of cold sodas from the fridge, heading into the living room.  Within a few minutes, pillows were piled in one arm of the couch, and Tim was propped up against them, lying against him was Melissa, who pulled a blanket over both of them.

“Wouldn’t be so cold if you wore actual clothes”, without taking his eyes from the screen, the newest James Bond movie starting up, Tim pops the elastic waistband on Melissa’s pajama shorts.

For an answer, Melissa shifts, squirming around under the blanket, finally sitting up and leaning towards her toes. At her movements, Tim lifts an eyebrow, leaning forward to peek over her shoulder at her feet, a grin curling his pouty lips when Melissa dangles her pajama shorts from one finger, “Since they seem to bother you so much, I took them off.  Now lie back down and watch the movie.”

“You just took your shorts off, and you want me to lie down and watch the movie?” still grinning, Tim shakes his head no at her.

“Yes, I want you to lie down and watch the movie.  You’re comfy”, Melissa grins at him, munching on several pieces of popcorn, one slim hand pushing against Tim’s muscled chest.

“I’m comfy.  Not sexy, not smoldering… comfy”, heaving an over-dramatic sigh, Tim goes back to where he was sitting, a pout on his lips.

“I like comfy”, fighting back the giggles at his pouty look, Melissa goes back to where she was, lying against his chest.

“Comfy is not sexy”, still pouting, Tim shifts until he gets comfortable, despite his words wrapping his arms around Melissa.

“Tim, you have a girl in a t-shirt, and a pair of panties, lying on top of you.  The same girl who has been here since Friday, and who will be here until Thursday, is not that proof of your sexiness?” she lifts her dark head up from his chest, pressing a kiss to his jaw line.

“Don’t believe you”, for a moment, his pout wavers into a smile, before he pouts at her again, although his eyes are twinkling with humor.

“Ooooh, I’ve caught on.  You’re trying to get me to proof to you how sexy you are, just so you can see me naked”, when she sees Tim’s grin, Melissa giggling, shaking her head in mock exasperation at him, “I’m on to you marshal, it’s not going to happen.”

All the smart-ass remarks Tim has fade away, as he gets an idea.  Slowly he slides his hands down her back, in a soothing motion, before grabbing the over-sized shirt in his hands, and tugging it upwards.  His movements catch Melissa off guard, and before she knows it, her shirt is balled in his hands, “Guess what Hummingbird??”

“Tim!!” Melissa blushes, burrowing further into the blanket, laughing despite her blush, “And what am I supposed to guess??”

“I can see you naked”, for proof of his words, he tugs at the edge of the blanket, catching sight of Melissa underneath, the soft curve of a breast visible for his greedy gaze, “I win.”

“You cheated”, Melissa sticks her tongue out at him, the blanket still wrapped around her slim shoulders.

“I won, there’s a difference” smirking, Tim does as Melissa asked earlier, laying back down on the couch, folding his arms above his head, the movement making the muscles bulge.

“No, you cheated”, half pouting, half smiling, Melissa stretches back out on Tim, and then sits up, pushing the blanket off of her shoulders, “There is something wrong with this picture.”

For a moment, Tim does not answer, his gaze locked on her breasts, and Melissa uses the distraction to pull his shirt up his chest, tugging on his shoulders until Tim gets the idea, and sits up enough for her to tug his shirt off of his head.  One small hand lands in the middle of his chest, and she pushes him back onto the pillows, clearly he was not expecting Melissa to lie back down, and when she does just that, he heaves a sigh.  But his arms wrap around her naked back, tugging her to his chest. 

The movie plays out on the tv, and Tim finds himself unable to focus on it.  Just a few minutes after Melissa upped the ante and tugged his shirt off; Tim is restless beneath her, one foot bouncing, his fingers trailing up and down the smooth skin of her back, running up her sides, and over the curves of her breasts, before back down.  His blood simmering, his erection pressing hard against the front of his jeans, he continues to run his work-roughened fingers over as much of Melissa’s smooth skin as he can, although the feel of her does nothing to relieve the growing pressure in his jeans. 

His touch sends chills up and down Melissa’s spine, and she lifts her head, a smile on her plump lips, “What’s wrong??  Not enjoying the movie??”

“Can’t concentrate”, he smirks back at her, sassing her as she sasses at him, his hands continuing to run up and down her back.

“You started it”, she stretches, her body rubbing against his, and drops a light kiss on his cheek.  Ever since she tugged his shirt off in retaliation, she knew they would not make it through the movie.  Golden warmth started to flow through her veins, warming her, pooling between her thighs, making it almost impossible to stay still as she lay against Tim’s chest.

“Christ…” Tim shivers, the fingers of one hand clenching in her dark hair, “And you started it, you took your shorts off.”

“You said they were illegal.  You’re the marshal”, her lashes lower to cover her gaze as she tips her head back further.  Chills race down her spine, her skin breaking out in goose bumps as he tugs on her hair further, gently, but inexorably taking command of the situation, and her body responds to it quickly.

“You brought  them, you put them on, you started it” He grins, leaning forward to trail kisses down the length of her throat, his fingers tightening in her long, silky hair, keeping her head tugged back.

“You were the one bothered by them”, even in her pose, submissive to him, she still sasses at him, her words earning her a laugh.

“You bother me Hummingbird” His words are whispered into the shell of her ear, as he moves, kicking the blanket off.  The fingers of his free hand run over her cheek, before cupping her chin in his hand, as he lips capture hers. 

Melissa’s hands run up his arms to his shoulders, and then down his chest, curling the hair on his chest around her fingers as the kiss deepens, her tongue rubbing against his in a provocative rhythm.  The hand holding her hair stays where it is, strands of chocolate colored silk wrapped tightly enough around and through his fingers to keep her in place, but Tim’s other hand slides from her face, down her side, and back up over her back, and then down her side again, feeling the warmth, the softness of her skin.  When his hand reaches her hip, and feels the bow on her hip, he breaks the kiss, shifting her to his side enough to look down.

Riding on the curve of her hip is a pink ribbon, tied in a simple bow, keeping the front and back of her panties together.  His fingers pluck at the bow, only to have it come undone, her panties literally falling apart in his hands, and he groans, his head falling back on the pillow, “You were wearing these at Art’s??”

“No, a pair just like them” She grins at his look, her slim fingers reaching for the button on his jeans, popping it open and then tugging the zipper down, before slipping inside.  Her fingers curl around his hardened length, squeezing it, and is rewarded when Tim groans, his hips jerking up off the couch.

“Christ…” Tim’s dark blue eyes fall closed as Melissa starts to stroke his length, running up and down, squeezing gently.  The fire is there again, banked by his concerns, by the threat that is Craig Duncan, and by time spent at Art’s, but alone, it has roared back to life, and he shoves at her panties, pushing them further down her legs. 

Melissa obliges him, lifting her hips enough, and then tugging the ribbon on her other hip, until the bow there gives, and her panties flutter to the couch, leaving her naked.  Tim tugs on her hair, until her lips find his once more, his tongue pushing into her mouth and then rubbing against her tongue.  He groans into the kiss as her hand starts to speed up, squeezing his cock harder, until finally his hand leaves her hair to curl around her wrist, stopping her hand. 

As he stops her, he shifts, rolling her beneath him, and settling in between her thighs, which part easily for him.  Already he knows Melissa, knows the subtle tremor that rocks her body, knows the way her body arches to his when his fingers cup her breasts, rolling her already hardened nipples between his fingers, and those calloused fingers shake for a moment.

Melissa’s hands roam over his well-built shoulders, down his arms and chest, and then down his sides, to the waistband of his jeans, she starts to push them down, at the same time Tim reaches for his back pocket, it was old habit that had him tucking a condom in the back pocket of his jeans, from his nights prowling bars, and now, with one of her fingers curling around his cock once again, with his jeans shoved just past his hips, he is thankful for it.

“We’re gonna need more of these”, he groans at her touch, wiggling the little packet of foil back and forth.

“We probably need to buy stock in Trojan”, she grins, her cheeks flushed with arousal.  Between her creamy thighs, she is wet with anticipation, has been since he pulled her shirt off, and as she speaks, one leg curls around his waist.

“Or Durex.  Or some company who makes… Fuck Melissa!!” Tim stops, his fingers unable to focus on the condom packet as Melissa’s hand squeezes his cock, keeping her grip tight as it slips up and down his length.  After a few deep breaths, he is able to get the wrapper open, and heaves a sigh of relief as she takes it from him, and rolls the condom carefully over his length.

A triumphant, feminine grin curls her mouth as Tim loses the ability to speak, the power in giving in to his masculinity evident as she lies atop the pillows on his couch.  Once the condom is on, her free leg curls around his waist, tugging him to her, as her arms reach for his shoulders.  Instead of going to her, Tim pulls her to him, until she is half sitting up; his lip capturing hers while his arms slide under her back, and pulls her against his chest, before laying her back down.  Only when Melissa is wrapped in his arms, is undeniably his, does he give in, and slowly slide into her, cursing as her body milks him, squeezing him tightly.

His lips find hers, fusing to them as his hips start to move.  Regardless of their surroundings, the heap of pillows atop his couch, regardless of the snacks on the coffee table, the movie playing, he takes his time, moving slowly, languidly, his hips rubbing against hers with each slow, full thrust.  They had not taken the time to push his jeans all the way down, and the feel of denim against the tender insides of her thighs adds a layer to Melissa’s arousal, her hips start to lift from the couch, meeting each deliberate thrust.  Tim breaks the kiss, running his lips down her throat, and then dropping tiny kisses over her face, the muscles in his arms bunching with each thrust, keeping her cradled to him. 

Melissa’s slim hands coast down his back and then back up, over his shoulders, through his hair, over his warm, smooth skin.  Each touch elicits a rumble from him, a pause in his kisses, a harder thrust, and she smiles, enjoying doing to him what he does to her.  His breathing grows harsh as her heartbeat races, thrumming against his lips, her legs shifting around his waist, pulling him to her with each thrust from his body, and still he continues his slow rhythm, driving her onward. 

Fighting to keep his own release at bay, his teeth clamp down on the inside of his cheek, his arms sliding out from beneath her, to find her hands, curling his calloused fingers around her own, and pining her arms to the pillow she is laying on.  Leaning forward, he buries his face in her neck, breathing her in, feeling her heartbeat race against his lips as they graze her throat, as her body clenches tightly around his length, her legs pull him to her, and with a moan, she buries her face in his shoulder, her fingers tightening around his.  The invitation of her body, milking him, squeezing him, is too much for Tim to fight off, and with one final thrust, he buries himself inside Melissa, groaning his release into her throat. 

For long moments, they stay where they are, coasting back to earth, dropping tender kisses on shoulders and necks and faces, lips meeting in a gentle kiss, before Tim props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Melissa’s delicately boned face, pausing to kiss the freckles that adorn her high cheekbones, “I really don’t want this weekend to end.”

“Me either”, the work week looms before them, with its’ stress and complications, with Craig Duncan lurking in the shadows, and Melissa buries her face in Tim’s shoulder, “Can we not go in and just say we did?”

Tim laughs at her, nodding his head in agreement, slowly pulling from her body, and pushing himself to his feet, “I don’t think anyone will miss us.”

She cannot keep from wincing as Tim pulls away, the soreness from repeated sessions with Tim aching between her legs as she rolls to her side, “We could always run away together.  I hear Tahiti is nice this time of year.”

“It’s nice any time of year”, his watchful gaze catches her wince, even as he turns to walk away to the kitchen, tossing the condom in the trash, and then tossing his jeans towards the bedroom, leaving his boxers on as he walks back to the living room.

“So that’s our plan then?  Run away to Tahiti like two fugitives?” she grins up at him, sitting back down on the couch, her panties back on, and the baggy shirt Tim pulled off of her hitting the middle of her thighs.

“Fugitives from Art”, he grins as he picks up the last of his brownies, and sits back down on the couch, tugging Melissa to him.  Within minutes, they are absorbed by the movie, eating too much junk food as Tim points out the inaccuracies in the scenes, and Melissa comments on the latest Bond girl’s clothes.  Instead of a couple just starting out, they look as if they have been doing this, having movie nights, for months, the slow dance they had done around and toward each other, the chemistry between them, making it easier to fall into something deeper than just one dinner date.

In the morning, each will be drawn into their work, away from each other, although Melissa knows she will be too far from Tim’s watchful dark blue colored gaze, but the casual comfort of the weekend will fade as they start their week.  But for the moment, wrapped around each other, watching movies on the couch as the evening deepens into twilight, the troubles and stress of life seem as far away as the bright white moon that hangs low on a sky of sparkling blue velvet sky.


	25. Chapter 25

**My deepest apologies for the late, late, late, late, update. Life has been insanely chaotic, and the muses completely abandoned me until the newest season started.**

**As always, my thanks to my "technical advisor", for letting me pester him endlessly about all things Army and sniper. And for keeping your promise, and coming home back to us. Love you most, and dammit, let me win this one. 3**

**Thank you to my fellow March Mama, for letting me pick your brain about social work, and hammering out those technical details. One of these days I'll write about a profession I know myself, and won't have to lean on so many people. But thank you for your help :)**

**Thank you to my editors, the crew of them that have offered ideas, changes, and deal with me being angsty over my writing.**

**As always, Melissa and her life is entirely my creation, all my own.**

 

**Monday**

Both of them were sitting at their desks when Art came in the office Monday morning, and the sight brought the chief deputy to a stop.  Melissa was on her computer, working on a couple files, dark hair piled on top of her head and held in place with a dark purple ribbon, and Tim was sitting at his computer, already on the phone with a parole officer, tracking down another fugitive.  It was the exact opposite of what Art had expected, Rachel was always early, Raylan kept his own hours, if Tim was ever going to be late to work, it was on a Monday.  Especially this Monday, after a weekend with Melissa that was already established as office legend. Despite the “date”, despite the dark circles under both of their eyes, there they both sat, working diligently.  The chief deputy stands in the middle of the bull pen, running one hand over his bald head, looking at the site before him, eyes a little wide. 

“Should have taken that bet”, from behind him, Raylan looks at the sight before him, grinning at Tim, who is already yawning and rubbing at his eyes, “He’ll be a five year old all day today you know.”

“I might just put you two together and let you deal with him”, despite his words, Art is grinning as he makes his way to Melissa’s desk.  She’s unpacked a couple more boxes, and he sees the hand drawn pictures, done with a child’s hand, that hang on the wall behind her, as well as a picture of Melissa with her arms around some blonde woman, displayed prominently on her desk, “Melissa, we have a meeting in half an hour, going over the week’s business.  I’d like for you to make it.”

Melissa looks up from her computer screen, seeing Art gazing at the picture of her and the blonde woman, half a head taller than she is, and nods, “If you want me there, I have the time.”

“Who in the world is that?” with no social grace, Raylan grabs the framed picture off of her desk, studying the two of them.  It is a recent picture; they’re standing in front of the mountains of Kentucky, Melissa with ripped jeans and a t-shirt on.  But the woman with her, in addition to being taller than Melissa, has bright pink streaks running through her hair; Raylan studies the picture intently, drawn to the woman for some reason.

“My college roommate.  Really, we’re like sisters now”, Melissa grins at the picture, taking it from Raylan and setting it back down on her desk, “I can introduce you to her if you want, she comes through every so often.”

“Who??” one of Tim’s eyebrows lifts as he sets the phone down, looking over towards Melissa’s desk, waiting on his prehistoric computer to boot all the way up.

“Tristan, my college roommate”, Melissa answers back, and motions to the picture on her desk, “Raylan looks awful curious about her.”

“Pink hair??” Raylan’s golden brown eyes are fixed on the woman in the picture, both eyebrows raised, and his hat shoved higher on his forehead as he stares at the picture.

“Yes, pink hair.  Tristan likes to... flout propriety in any way she can.” Simultaneously holding her hand out, while she reads an email, Melissa seems unfazed by Raylan’s fascination with the woman in the picture.

Raylan folds himself into his chair, his ancient computer protesting as it comes to life, andlooks at Melissa thoughtfully.  This friend of Melissa’s was definitely not what he expected, seeing the soft, sweet Melissa, with a ribbon in her hair, was definitely a contrast from the blonde in the picture with her.  But then again, Melissa had at least one tattoo, on a high-arched foot with toenails painted pink, if he remembered correctly, and Raylan missed few details when it came to a woman.

 “I didn’t expect pink hair”, Raylan mutters to the computer monitor on his desk.

“Why is that Raylan?” his dark blue eyes lift from his computer screen as Tim looks over at Raylan, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Look at Melissa.  She doesn’t look the type…” the older marshal waves one hand towards Melissa, trailing off as he enters his password into the computer.

“The type to what??” completely abandoning his own computer, Tim turns his chair, leaning back in it as he faces Raylan, slouching in his comfortable way.

“She’s a good girl Tim.  And just how many tattoos does she have?” giving up on doing anything resembling work, Raylan leans back in his chair, adjusting his hat on his head, shifting it several times, before finally giving up and setting it on his desk.

“Four, in various places.” The former sniper cannot keep from smirking as he answers Raylan, having seen each of Melissa’s tattoos up close and personal over the weekend.

Raylan blinks at Tim owlishly, his gaze bouncing between his colleague and friend, and then back to Melissa.  The dark haired woman is buried in a file, the top of her head showing over the divider, the purple ribbon holding her hair up visible.  Shaking his head in disbelief, he starts to open the various computer programs he needs.

“All of them mean something to her”, Tim nods towards Melissa, his expression softening as he sees her.  The change is quiet in Tim, not a glaring, obvious change; but there is one, his outer edges have softened. 

“Pink hair Tim, that girl in that picture on her desk has pink hair.  And Melissa has tattoos.” Raylan looks back towards Melissa again, almost tilting his head to one side as he studies the dark haired woman.

“Tristan is supposed to be some sorta genius with a camera,” Shaking his head, Tim goes back to his computer.

“Can you stop talking about Melissa’s friend with the pink hair, Art will want to start the meeting soon”, Rachel sighs, rolling her dark eyes at Tim and Raylan, before walking towards the conference room.

Tim and Melissa are the last in, and Tim tugs Melissa’s chair out for her, before sitting in the one next to her, and draping one powerful arm over the back of her chair.  Through the glass windows, Art is visible, talking on the phone and rubbing one hand over his bald head, much like a child with a security blanket.  Once the phone call is ended, Art steps into the office, a file in his hand.

“Good morning, I’m glad to see everyone has made it in. Usual business, we don’t have any major fugitives to hunt for, we have a few minor criminals to keep track of.  It’s been fairly quiet.” Over the top of his glasses he looks at Tim.  The former sniper is running his fingers up and down Melissa’s arm, while leaning back with an almost bored expression on his face.  The expression is misleading, Art knows Tim has heard every word, and would be able to repeat them back to him if asked.

“If you don’t know already, Child and Adult Protective Services have sent one of their caseworkers to us.  She’s going to serve as a liaison between our office and theirs, and will primarily be handling any children from any cases we work.” Art pauses as heads swing in Melissa’s direction.  Tim’s hand pauses on her arm, but he doesn’t pull away, it is obvious the two are with each other, and Melissa blushes more from the knowledge of that, than her formal introduction to everyone, “And here’s the bad news.  Both Melissa and the Family Court judge have received some pretty intense threats from a case she is handling.  I’m assigning one of you to go upstairs and sit in Family Court.  Because Melissa isn’t always in the office, someone needs to go with her if she leaves.  I know we’re short-handed as it is, I’ve called in for a couple marshals from Cleveland, and they’ll be here after lunch.”

From the other side of Melissa, Raylan leans over, curling his long fingers around her arm and squeezing gently, “We gotcha’ darlin’, nothing will happen.”

“He’s right, nothing is going to happen”, the chief deputy nods to Raylan’s words, “Also, in the next couple of weeks, I would like each of you to spend some time with Melissa.  She has a lot to teach us about how to handle children, what to look for, how to talk to them, things of that nature.  I think it would be beneficial to us to learn more of that.  Melissa, can you give us a little of your time during the week for something like that?”

Melissa blinks, her summer bright blue gaze wide, before she nods, Tim wrapping his long fingers around her slim arm and squeezing for support, “I can.  Do you want them to go with me during home visits, meeting with the psychologist we use, stuff like that?  That’s where you really learn how to work with kids.”

“Exactly that.  Get me a copy of your schedule, and I’ll start assigning marshals to it”, Art warms up to the idea quickly, and smiles broadly at Melissa.  His instincts were right; already Melissa is bringing a different skill set to the marshal’s than they had, one they can use. 

“Who gets Melissa today?” Raylan smirks as he asks the question, stretching his long legs out in front of him and slouching comfortably in his chair. 

“Whoever is not the busiest.  I don’t foresee trouble, I think we have a man here who sees a short little thing and thinks he can bully her around.  A show of force should be all we need to put him off”, Art drops the file onto the table, leaning against a cabinet, “Anything else we need to lay out on the table this morning?  Raylan, you didn’t knock some woman up?  Or shoot someone??  Tim, did you shoot someone?”

“I don’t know how to knock a woman up; I didn’t pass high school biology” Raylan grins at Melissa and Tim, before taking a sip of coffee.

“And why do you assume I shot someone?  Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” Tim sasses at Art, smirking as he looks up from his spot at the conference table, while around him, he can hear Rachel and a few others start to laugh.

“Do I need to ask if you knocked someone up Tim?” Art, grinning madly, shoots a glance at Melissa.

At Art’s words, Melissa turns bright pink, her freckles standing out in dark relief against her flushed skin, and looks down at her lap, while the marshal’s in the room all laugh.  Tim’s smirk grows wide with masculine pride as he shakes his head no, sending everyone into peals of laughter.

“Now that we’ve established who has fathered what children and who has not this weekend… Nelson, you’re going upstairs to Family Court, Raylan, I believe you have some reports that need to be filed, and that’s about all I have for the day.  We all know what we’re doing for the day??” Art looks over the marshal’s assembled in his office, and he waves them off as they nod in return, “Melissa, give me a minute please.  Tim, you too.”

“I appreciate that you are both here, on time.  And that you were both working when I came in.  I have to say the rest of this now, officially.  Keep things professional in this office.  No sneaking off for quickies at lunch, no messing around by the copier, none of that shit” Art sighs when Melissa turns scarlet, shaking his head at her, “Since you’ve only had one date, we’re not too far into this, but if things progress further… Tim you won’t be allowed to do protection duty or anything else for her, if she needs it.  Got it?”

Tim nods, looking distinctively sullen as he sits there, one arm still resting on the back of Melissa’s chair, “Don’t like it, but got it.”

“For right now, you can take your turn at guard duty with her, because technically speaking, y’all have had one date.  But you know Vasquez will be up your ass if something happens.”

Melissa’s nose wrinkles at the mention of the UAUSA who she has met briefly a few times, “If this is going to be an issue now I can stick with Raylan.  Or Rachel, or one of the new marshals.”

Art shakes his head no, taking a seat across the table from them, and leaning back comfortably, folding his hands behind his head, “I don’t see a problem with it right now.  And that’s not really why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh??” Melissa lifts a dark eyebrow in question, grabbing her notebook and a pen nearby, earning her a grin from both Art and Tim.

“Overachiever.” Tim smirks at her, his hand tugging on a few strands of her chocolate dark hair.

“That talent has served her well Tim.  Here’s my point, I know you have a lot of stuff you keep in the offices, car seats, spare clothes, teddy bears, stuff like that.  I’ve got a space cleared for you, but it’s in the evidence locker.  They know you’re coming, just take your time getting everything moved in there.  But could you keep some stuff here?”

“Like what?” Melissa looks up at Art, her pen poised over the notepad in front of her, with her free hand swatting at Tim’s hand as he tugs on her hair.

“Oh, I don’t know.  It’s not uncommon for us to have kids in here, witnesses in cases, and children of witnesses, so on.  I can clear out some space here, for you to keep whatever you need to keep them occupied.” Running one hand over his bald head, Art lifts a shoulder in a shrug, out of his element.

“Crayons, coloring books, books to read, games, a dvd player, and some movies”, Melissa rattles the list off quickly, writing it down in her notebook.

“Exactly.  Christ you’re good.” Art beams, even happier with his pick for which caseworker came in the office. 

“I’ll separate that from what is going to the evidence locker, and keep it here.  I can keep it in a storage bin or something.  A space for them to read or color or watch movies would be good too, if you can manage it.” Setting her pen down, she tears the page off, folding it small enough to fit into a pocket or her purse.

“There’s a couch up by the receptionist, and there’s the war room” Art gestures with one hand to the room they’re sitting in, and the wide conference table, “But other than that, we’re a little cramped for space.”

“If nothing else, there are witness rooms upstairs I can take them to, if the wait is going to be long.  And there’s a park nearby, we use it for cases all the time.” Chewing her lip in thought, Melissa gestures towards the park with one hand.

“I’m happy with that idea.  I’ll have someone clear out some storage space and you can bring in whatever you need.  Can I just say, I was right about you being the perfect fit for here”, Art smiles at her warmly, gesturing to the door, “And Tim, it’s your turn to get coffee.”

The rest of the day passed quickly, Melissa sat through a long meeting with a psychologist and a court appointed guardian, going over a case she had going.  In the afternoon, she lugged a small storage container filled with art supplies, books, and anything else to keep kids occupied into the marshal’s office, where Tim shoved it into a storage closet for her.  Finally, she turned to the stuff she would keep in evidence, clothes for both sexes in several different age groups, toys for various age groups, teddy bears, blankets, and car seats.  She spent the rest of the day organizing everything, grouping clothes and toys together by age group, books in one box by themselves, and then stacking car seats neatly one in each other.

Satisfied that anyone would be able to get what they needed, if she was not there, she rose from her spot on the floor, and stretched, easing the cramped muscles in her back. 

“Tim is running behind, he’s escorting a witness from court and testimony ran long.  You’re ridin’ with me,” Raylan’s voice echoes through the evidence room, and he grins when Melissa jumps, a squeal escaping her.

“Wear a damn bell or something!!” heart pounding, Melissa jumps from her spot on the floor, glaring at Raylan as he grins at her.

“Only if you do whatever you’ve done to Tim to me…” although he is joking, Raylan lifts one eyebrow suggestively at her, grinning when she rolls her blue eyes at him.

“Oh Jesus Raylan…” heaving a sigh, she walks to the elevator, pushing a button.

“Well, you’ve done something.  Tim is practically goo around you, Nelson is eating out of your hands, Art thinks the sun rises and sets in you, Rachel thinks you’re a genius,” he gestures up to the floors above, the marshal’s office, with one hand, while leaning his lanky frame against the wall waiting for the elevator.

“You’re saying I have a fan club?” she grins at up at him, a blush darkening her cheeks as she does so.

“And I’m the vice president”, Raylan grins down at her, all ease and charm as he leans against the wall.

“Well then, Mr.  Vice-President, can we stop for ice cream on the way?” grinning like a five-year old, Melissa looks up at Raylan.

“Tim was right, you **are** perfect.  Gonna chew my ass out about ruining your dinner though,” The doors slide open, and Raylan waits for Melissa to step in before he does, leaning down to push the button. The ride back to Tim’s was quiet, Melissa and Raylan exchanging good-natured barbs with each other, arguing over who made the best fried chicken in town.  Until the Lincoln Town Car Raylan seemed to have permanently borrowed from the marshal’s eased into the sidewalk in front of Tim’s house, and then Raylan’s charm changed into methodical, focused work.

He took his time checking the house, leaving Rachel in the Town Car, doors locked, phone in her hand with Tim’s number pulled up.  Quietly he walked through each room, although he was arrogant enough to leave his gun holstered, he walked the perimeter of the back yard, checked the lock on the back gate, and the locks on the doors before he was satisfied.  Finally he let Melissa in, and eased onto a bar stool at the kitchen island, while a yawning Melissa was reheating left-overs from the Mullen’s party for dinner, “Alright darlin, you’ve had ice cream, you’ve got dinner, everything is locked down and quiet around here.  Tim’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Thank you Raylan.  You want some left-overs?  Leslie sent us with more than enough”, Melissa licks barbeque sauce off of her fingers while dropping a plate into the sink.

“She sent me home with some too.  Don’t worry about it”, Raylan makes his way to the front door, wearing a bemused grin.  When he had turned down dinner, Melissa had rose onto her tiptoes, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and went back to heating up dinner. 

It was easy for the quick-draw marshal to see how Melissa had Tim so wrapped up so quickly, once you were around her for any length of time.  The girl exuded a natural, real sweetness better than the Tupelo honey Helen used to squirrel away.  A text to Tim letting him know that Melissa was safely tucked away, and Raylan was heading towards the hotel room he was crashing in.  The sight of Melissa plating up dinner for Tim, covering it with foil and putting it back in a warm oven sent a pang through his heart as he unlocked the door and let himself in.  He had loved Winona with all his heart, and parts of that heart still did love her, but never could he remember his ex doing something like that for him.  She had yelled when he was late, sulked when he was late, but never had she slid a plate of food into the oven for him.  Heaving a sigh over all the what-might-have-should-haves of his life, Raylan slips into his hotel room, and heads straight for the bourbon.

By the time the witness was tucked back into a safe house, and he could call it a day, Tim was fairly bursting at the seams.  He knew Raylan well enough to know Melissa was safe, but all the same, he wanted to be protecting her, until the threat of Craig Duncan had passed, or he had been dealt with it.  As fast as was legal, he drove back to his house, skipping the office, but texting Art to let him know the witness was safe, and would be ready to testify against in the morning. 

“Melissa??” He found dinner warm in the oven, left over bbq from Art’s party the day before, with enough extras to keep him content until morning.  A note on the top of the foil covering his dinner told him to check the freezer, where two beers were perfectly, frosty cold.  Juggling his plate of food, and both beers, he made his way to the den, expecting to see Melissa curled up with her sketchpad and pastels, or maybe a book. 

The sight of her, on top of a couch cushion, snuggled under the thick, fleecy blanket he kept on the back of the couch, sound asleep, did funny things to his solitary heart.  Her thick lashes nearly brushed the dark circles underneath her eyes, her pale skin a stark contrast to the dark hair that fell over her face.  With all the stealth and training of a sniper, he eased onto the couch, gratified when she did not move, and settled in to watch tv, which she had fallen asleep doing the same.

“Tim???” her summer bright eyes blink open a few times, disoriented as she wakes up on the couch, the sky nearly dark.

“Yeah?” A mouthful of food, he looks over at her, one hand reaching out to rest on her calf, rubbing in a soothing motion, one he had learned from her.

“Dinner’s in… oven” her words are sleep slurred, spoken around a yawn as she blinks a few times, stretching and moving off of her the pillow.

“I got it, and the beer.  Thank you,” Tim stretches, propping his socked feet on the coffee table, and one arm down the back of the couch.  Within moments, Melissa’s head is resting on that shoulder, her face snuggled into the side of his neck as she curls up next to him, one foot dangling off the couch. 

“No problem.  How was work?” her lashes once again veil her gaze, tickling his skin as she blinks a few times before her eyes fall closed once more.

“Long.  Go back to sleep.” Chuckling at her, he curls an arm around her, muscles bunching as he moves, his gaze going back to the tv as he slouches further into the couch.

When his own intense gaze grew heavy with fatigue, he thought for a moment about sleeping on the couch, after all, they had done it plenty over the weekend, snoozing on the cushions.  But the week promised to be long for him, and difficult for her, sleep would be a necessity.  Gently he woke her just enough to get her to walk to his room, and then handed her a shirt of his to sleep in when she was too tired to hunt for pajamas.  Before he was done brushing his teeth and changing clothes, Melissa was asleep again, her breathing evening out slowly but steadily.  And with a gentle touch, Tim moved her aside, just long enough to slide into bed with her, and pull her onto his chest.  Fingers buried in his silky hair, he drifted off; content with the quiet comfort Melissa offered him, even in sleep. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Tuesday**

Sometime around 6:30 in the morning, Melissa was certain Tim was trying to kill her.  He had rolled out of bed, gently woke her up, and gave her enough time to get dressed in running clothes.  And then he was dragging her down the driveway, forcing her to stretch, shoving her onto the sidewalk and forcing her to run with him.

The runner’s high never kicked in, despite her screaming muscles, and Melissa was thankful Tim took it slower this time.  But he was still relentless, gently speeding her up when she would slow down, cracking a joke now and then, and when she truly started to falter, launching into the raunchiest, most hilarious cadences he had learned in the Army, many of which she had heard growing up.

Finally, Tim turned, running back towards his house, winded enough that he had to focus on running.  Back in the house, they fell back into the same routine they’ve had for the past couple of days, a shower, coffee, breakfast, and then Tim is standing in the dining room, his array of weapons spread out on the table, next to Melissa’s purse and brief case.  He stays where he is, standing in the morning light, studying their gear spread out on the dining room table, some weird symbol of their lives falling into each other, as she walks from the bedroom.

Silently Melissa slips in between Tim and the dining room table, leaning against the table top, and reaches for a holster, which she carefully clips onto his belt.  When he arches his eyebrows at her in question, she smiles up at him, looking up, “You know, during the middle ages, ladies of court would tuck favors into the armor of their favorite knights.”

“I’ve read that before”, Tim stands still, lifting a well-built arm to give her better access to his waist, as she settles the holster into its familiar place.

“And this is your armor.” Her fingers clip his name badge onto the bottom of the pocket of his shirt, and then reach for his shining badge, running over the polished metal gently.

“I have armor in the truck.  The Kevlar kind.” His head inclines, tilting towards the direction of his driveway, where his SUV sits, carrying his tactical gear in the back.

“No Tim, I’m not talking about that kind.  This”, gently Melissa waves the badge in front of his face, “is the armor you put on to protect the real you from the world,” with just as gentle a touch; she presses her fingers against his heart.

This time, Tim has no answer, knowing her words ring true, and he finds himself fascinated as Melissa takes part in his daily ritual, putting on his armor to face the world.  His gaze tracks over her small face, the high cheekbones, the long sweep of soft lashes that surround her eyes, the smattering of freckles that keep her from being too perfect looking, while she takes his morning habits and stamp them with something all of her own. 

“You’re not fooling me, by the way.  I see that heart of yours.  It’s battered, it’s bruised, it’s scarred, but it’s still there.  You can hide it from everyone, even from Rachel and Raylan, but I see it”, for the moment, Melissa lays the badge back down, and picks up the pocket knife laying on the table, tucking it into the right pocket with unerring accuracy.

“What’re you doing?” once more, his eyebrows climb up his forehead as she slides first that knife, and then his wallet, into their respective pockets.  Suddenly his muscles are quivering, part of his mind telling him to pull away, and his long fingers flex several times. 

“Helping you with your armor”, she rises onto tiptoe, shushing him with a gentle kiss as she slides his wallet into his back pocket, and then leans back reaching for his marshals badge once more.  This time, she holds it for a moment, her bright cerulean gaze studying it intently; she understands how difficult his job is, the long hours he keeps, the times he is gone, the things he sees that he cannot talk about, the chaos of it all.  She knows that putting that last piece of armor on, clipping that badge onto his belt, will be the moment where she acknowledges that life. 

He grows quiet again, watching her look at his badge, running her fingers over the star, tracing the lettering on it gently.  Melissa has put him into his armor; recognizing and accepting the change that comes over him, when he shifts from who he is around her, allowing his goofy side to show through, to who he becomes at work, all focus and intensity. Each time she has moved, put something on him, or in his pocket, a crack in his defenses has formed, just a tiny crack, but a weakening nonetheless.

Finally, Melissa heaves a sigh, and lifts his badge, pressing a gentle kiss into the center of the star, before she clips it onto his belt, just above his hip, “There, all suited up.  Go save the world.”

For a moment, Tim says nothing, but his steely blue gaze burns into the top of her head. He moves finally, his calloused fingers sliding up to cradle her face in his palms, and bring her gaze up to his.  All he does is look at her, staring into her bright gaze; knowing that sees him for what he is, that she sees through his armor and past his defenses, and the sensation is so close to drowning it is terrifying for a moment.  The moments when she has made him laugh, offered him comfort when he needed it, given him a chance to have something close to normal stand out in his mind.  Staring into her eyes, he realizes he isn’t drowning, he already has, he had jumped in over his head and drowned the first moment he saw those eyes looking up at him.  With a sigh, he leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, “Do this every morning.”

“Put your armor on?” this time it is her eyebrows that raise in question, lifting over her bright gaze as she looks up at him.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to start coming by in the morning before work and do this.” He smiles at the thought, tugging her to him further, and wrapping his well built arms around her.

Melissa had watched him as he had watched her, had seen the internal battle going on in his head, and when he had finally seemed to be at peace, chills had skated down her spine.  When he pulls her against him, she takes a moment to bury her face in the collar of his shirt, breathing in him, “You need to keep more food here then, and we can have breakfast while I’m here.”

“Deal.” Gently his fingers coasts through her hair, curling it around his fingers and then letting it go.  In a few minutes, they will head for work, he will slip into the more familiar role of sentinel and protector, and she will be busy guarding other people’s children.  Pushing away thoughts of work, he stands in the dining room, his hands coasting through her hair, watching the warm, golden light of morning send sparks of red and amber through the chocolate dark tresses. 

 

After lunch, when Melissa was done with home visits and meetings, and Tim was done with his witness, Raylan appeared, doing his lanky walk as he ambled towards Tim’s desk.  Melissa, buried in paperwork, failed to notice their grins as they spoke, and then looked towards her.  The first she was aware of either of them was when Tim’s long fingered hand curled around her wrist, hauling her from her chair, and Raylan reached for her purse.

“Raylan has qualifications in a few weeks, I have some time to kill,” Tim said, by way of explanation, as he tugged Melissa further, out from her desk and around the half-wall of her cubicle.

“And you could sit here and try to pack, or you could meander on down to the gun range with us”, Raylan grinned at her, gesturing to his gun.

“You can use either of mine, if you want, or we can rent you one there,” although Raylan had phrased his words like a question, an invitation; Tim’s were quiet orders, drawled out of his mouth while he took Melissa’s purse from Raylan, and handed it to her.

“I should just shut up and say yes, right?” for a moment, Melissa frowned at getting drawn out of her work, and her gaze shifted to Art’s office, where the balding chief deputy waved them on.

“Yeah, just shut up and say yes,” Tim curled his hand around her elbow, in the standard Marshal escorting a witness hold, guiding her out of the office, while Raylan follows behind, his tall frame casting a long shadow over Melissa.

“One of these days, I’m gonna say no.” Melissa heaves a sigh, her eyes darting back towards the office, and the pile of work on her desk, a pile that will have grown larger by the time she is back in her chair next.

“Today is not that day darlin’.” Raylan moves, blocking her view of the office doors, as the elevator chimes, all three moving into the elevator, Tim and Raylan keeping Melissa tucked between them, safely out of view.

Once at the range, Raylan takes a stall next to the one Tim and Melissa are in, ostensibly to practice, although he could pass qualifications with his eyes closed.   Sitting on the shelf in front of Melissa are two of Tim’s guns, and she reaches for the smaller Glock, the one she cleaned over the weekend.  Her small fingers close around the grip, and she studies it for a moment, a waterfall of dark hair obscuring her gaze. 

Tim holds out a pair of ear muffs, designed to protect her ears from noise, and with her free hand she takes them, tugging them over her head disinterestedly.  Her cobalt gaze finally lifts from the gun, as both Tim and Raylan move towards her, reaching for the gun, intent on helping her, and both are stopped by one slim hand, as she holds it up, “I’m not made of glass.  I won’t break.”

Raylan and Tim take a moment to look at each other; Tim nodding towards Raylan’s raised eyebrows.  In a swift movement, she slides a magazine in, pulls the slide back, and turns to face the target.  Her stance, taught to her by her brothers, is similar to Tim’s, although it reveals she is left handed as she sights down the gun, and then pulls the trigger, calmly.  Every bullet tears through the paper target, in a wider spread than Tim or Raylan would shoot, but still well centered.  Calmly, Melissa pulls the slide back, checks to make sure the gun is empty, and lays it down, picking up the other of Tim’s guns.  This time, she takes a moment to breathe, exhaling slowly, and the bullets are clustered tighter together, tearing a hole through the center of the paper target. 

Raylan blinks several times, pushing his hat up on his forehead as he stares at the target, and then back at Melissa.  After laying the gun back down, she pushes the ear protection down around her neck, turning to look to look at both Tim and Raylan, a grin lifting the corners of her lips, “Are you two satisfied??”

Tim nods, shock evident in his features, but pride gleaming there as well, before he hooks his hand around Melissa’s neck, and tugs her to him long enough to kiss her forehead, “For now.”

“Hell Melissa, I think I just fell in love with you.” Raylan grins, before moving back to his stall, pausing frequently to watch the target in front of Melissa display another set of bullet holes.  With each pass she gets better, and finally, Raylan ambles back to her stall, leaning against one side and watching.

When Melissa lifts the gun in her hands, sighting down it, Tim moves, pushing himself from his spot, and stepping behind her, as his hands reach out for her.  One hand runs down her arm, starting at her shoulder, almost a caress, before cupping her palm, adjusting her fingers and tightening her grip, while the other slides slowly down her opposite arm, straightening her elbow slightly.  A shiver raises goose bumps on her pale skin, and she takes a deep calming breath, focusing intently on her target, trying to shove her body’s response to Tim back. 

The former sniper says nothing, but keeps his hands where they are, guiding her more closely than he has ever anyone he has taught, anyone he has offered pointers too.  But as gentle as his touch it, adjusting her stance, tightening her fingers into a better grip, he is insistent, unrelenting.  Melissa pulls the trigger, one shot at a time, again and again, and again and again, his hands slide over her arms, down her back, forcing her to stand taller, one booted foot sliding between her own, widening her stance, before she pulls the trigger next.  He continues to move silently; teaching her, tipping her chin up with one hand as he pulls one shoulder back with the other.  Each time she empties a clip, he takes the gun from her, exchanging it with the other gun, loading the first as she shoots again. 

Again and again, Melissa’s blue gaze locks down the sight, again and again she pulls the trigger, and the bullet holes cluster closer and closer together.  Finally, when Melissa empties one clip, the bullets centered almost perfectly in the middle of the target, does Tim step back.  Content now that she can defend herself, he allows himself to relax, and he realizes his blood is roaring, thundering in his veins, and his fingers itch to touch her again, to curl her long dark ponytail around his fingers.  Raylan stands behind them though, and Tim is jealous of the Melissa only he gets to see.  His gaze hot, he leans around her, taking the gun from her hand, and slides the mufflers off of her ears. 

Raylan watches them intently, he has seen Tim offer tips and pointers before, and his manner is calm, quiet, just like he is now.  This is different though, the heat that radiates between Tim and Melissa burns just at the surface, almost visible, and mixed with it, is something very close to what Art was hinting at, the former sniper is falling hard and fast for the short, dark-haired woman standing in front of both of them, coolly loading one gun into its’ case.  He knows Tim well, probably as well as anyone does now, and he can see the emotion driving the younger man, as well as the delicate way he taught Melissa, and how she responded, without Tim ever uttering a word. 

“Can I shoot your rifle next time?” Melissa lifts her bright blue gaze to Tim, a dark eyebrow arching in question, as she snaps the gun case shut. 

“For more brownies” grinning, he takes the gun case from her. 

“Wait wait wait… you won’t let anyone in the office even touch your rifle and you’re gonna let Melissa shoot it?” Raylan’s eyes are wide and incredulous as he looks at Tim.

“He likes me better” her cheeks darken with a blush, but Melissa grins wickedly up at Raylan.

“She’s right, I do.” Nodding to her words and wearing a grin that matches Melissa’s, Tim slips from the stall, carrying a gun case, followed by Melissa, and then Raylan.  He pauses in the doorway, keeping Melissa inside, his dark gaze flicking across the parking lot, taking in details, while Raylan does the same from behind Melissa.  Satisfied, Tim starts to walk to his truck, while Melissa grabs her purse and a small bag from Raylan’s Crown Victoria. 

Once Raylan pulls away, waving to both of them, Tim turns to Melissa, who is sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, her feet dangling out the open door.  One long hand curls around her waist, tugging him to her, “That was...”

“Not what you were expecting?” Melissa grins at him, resting her hands on his shoulders.

“Amazing.  Who knew you could shoot well??” Tim grins at her, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead, “And make brownies.  And almost keep up with me when I run.  You are perfect.”

Melissa laughs at his words, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, resting her forehead against his shoulder, “Not that perfect.  You have to sing Disney songs when I pee.”

“I was thinking of switching it up.  Maybe singing AC/DC next time” gently, he slides away from her, taking a moment to tug at her seat belt and make sure it is snug against her form.

“Smart-ass”, she leans back into her seat, settling comfortably while Tim walks to his side of the truck. 

Tim swore he was tingling, his toes felt like they had been asleep, his fingers itched for something.  As he slid into the truck, and looked at Melissa, who was watching him through those bright blue eyes of hers, he realized they were itching for her.  He was used to protecting everyone in his life, and Melissa had made it easy to protect her, but just a few minutes ago, she proved she had some steel in her spine.  Those small hands of hers, which could soothe a child, type a report, tipped with nails he knew she got painted once a week, had curled around a gun like it was second nature, and pulled the trigger.  Not only that, but she was good. 

A grin curled his lips when he saw just a hint of blue beneath her lashes, the sign that she was watching him out of the corner of her eyes, “Tired??”

“Tired as in do I want to curl up in bed and go to sleep?  That’s my natural state of being, I never turn down a nap”, she grinned back at him, pleased with herself and her rusty skills.  She had fought the chills that raced down her spine each time Tim had touched her, adjusting her grip, widening her stance with one of his feet, but it had been there. 

“So I’m gonna take you back home and tuck you back into bed??”  he grinned at her, driving with a casual ease back towards his house.

“Are you gonna let me eat junk food in bed?” her grin meets his over the center console of his truck, her shoes abandoned on the floor board, and shell-pink painted toes propped on the dashboard of his truck.

“Hell no, you’ll get crumbs everywhere.” Shaking his head for emphasis, he cuts through Lexington traffic with the ease of someone long used to it.

“You’re an obsessive neat freak, I hope you know.” With a sigh, she settles back further into the seat, closing her eyes and relaxing for a few moments.

“So says the girl who keeps her paints in color order.” Smirking, he steers his truck through a series of stop lights, and turns back into their neighborhood, on his side. 

“So says the man who keeps his underwear in color order.” She answers without bothering to lift her heavy curtain of lashes, settled more than comfortably in the passenger seat.

“You saw that?” Tim heaves a sigh, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink at having one of his quirks found out.

“Yeah, when I was folding laundry.  It’s kinda’ cute.” Taking a moment to gather her things, Melissa tugs her well-worn, leather messenger bag over her head, settling it against one gently curving hip.

“There you go with cute again.”  Tim sighs, opening the front door to his home, and letting them inside, holding the door open for Melissa to slip through. 

As is customary now, she slides out of her flats in the entry way, sets her purse and messenger style bag on the dining room table, her gaze lingering on the undecorated, plain white wall that makes up one wall of the dining room.  Something brightens in her gaze, not the sensual haze Tim has seen color it, nor the intensity and focus when she works, and Tim realizes he is watching her create something in her mind. 

“The wall is that inspiring?” one eyebrow lifts as he folds his arms over her chest, leaning against the doorway into the dining room.

“Actually, it is.  You saw my studio.  I don’t just hang paintings on walls.  I could do so much on that wall.” Her cheeks darken in her characteristic blush, as Tim reads her face so easily, and she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “But it’s not my wall to paint.”

“Make me more brownies, and I’ll let you paint the wall.  What would you put on it?” the smirk that never seems to leave him returns, as he takes in her pink cheeks.

“You ever been to Jekyll Island?  South of Fort Stewart?” her gaze goes back to the wide wall, tracing over it, her features growing animated as she studies the wall.

“South of Savannah?  Yeah, a few times, I did a year at Hunter before going to Lewis.  Why?” Although he would gladly stand and watch her paint that wall in her mind, his stomach growls at him, a plaintive reminder that he skipped lunch again, and he turns walking on socked feet towards the kitchen. 

“It’s one of my favorite spots.  Gorgeous beaches, not packed full of tourists, they have that driftwood beach on the…” belatedly Melissa realizes he has walked away, and turns, following him, pausing in the kitchen to cast one long look at the undecorated wall, so full of possibilities for her.

“The north side right?  If I remember right.” He tugs plates and glasses out of a cabinet as he speaks, handing one of each to Melissa.

“Yeah, it’s on the north end of the island.” She nods at his words, setting her plate and glass on the kitchen counter, their customary spot now, leaving them while she grabs a beer from the fridge, stocked better now that she is staying longer.

“We went down there a few times.  Tended to stay on Tybee though.” Memories, of the wild times spent in the Army, come to him, the good memories, and he smiles, taking the beer with a murmured thank you, and a distracted kiss to Melissa’s cheek.

“I bet, more tourists, more drunk girls to hit on.” She grins up at him, nudging him gently with her elbow, before reaching for her plate once more.

“It’s what you would call a target rich environment.” He grins cockily at her, sliding the cover off the slow-cooker on his counter, leaning in and sniffing the contents, before heaving a sigh.  Among her many talents, Melissa could cook.  He had no idea what all she had put in the slow-cooker this morning, but it smelled heavenly now.

“Manwhore.” She grins as she says it, dropping a kiss on his cheek, handing Tim his plate back, which he heaps with dinner, before filling her own plate, and taking her now customary spot at the kitchen island, “Anyways, I have a painting sketched out, of the view from Jekyll, but I’ve never been able find a place to paint it.  That wall would be perfect.”

Over a forkful of the chicken and rice and what all he didn’t know she had loaded into the slow cooker this morning, Tim looked at Melissa, watching her faintly glow with creative inspiration.  He has never had that, never been driven to create, he can draw good stick figures, attempted poetry once when he was drunk and it was awful, and while he does not understand her drive, does not understand the gleam that comes over her eyes now, he would not take it from her for anything.  A genuine smile curls his pouty lips, “Go ahead and paint it.  Do whatever you do.”

Melissa freezes, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs, her eyes wide with shock, over large in her small face as she stares at him, “Did you just say what I think you did?”

“Did I tell you to go ahead and paint on my wall?  Yeah, I did”, at her look, his smile widens, and he has the warmth of having done the right thing, at the right time, for the woman in his life, and he realizes how addictive that feeling is.  Suddenly, Tim realizes why his friends buy flowers, books, send cheesy text messages, plan elaborate dates, for their girlfriends and wives; that look, all wide eyed and hopeful, is even more powerful than bourbon.

What he was expecting, in return for letting her put paint on a wall, he was not sure, but he did not expect Melissa in one move, to push both his plate and hers to one side, almost tipping over her glass of iced tea in the process.  Before he had time to process what she was doing, Melissa had tugged his fork from him, and was sitting perched halfway in his lap and halfway on the butcher-block island in his kitchen, her arms wound around his neck.  To keep from falling backwards, he grabbed onto the counter with one hand, his feet sliding to the floor to brace himself, as all his want and need that had been building up rises roaring to the surface, “Melissa….”

She hears the warning in his voice; that dinner will get cold if she does not stop, and she does not stop.  Her arms curl around his neck, her lips brush against his, fleetingly, before parting beneath his, and she slides from the counter to his lap, her legs curling around his waist, the wide legs of the pants she wore today to work riding up around her calves as the kiss deepens.  At the gun range earlier, with each pass of his hands over her, teaching her, her blood had warmed, her heart had spend up, the undercurrent of want flowing even as she focused on what he was teaching her.  But now, safe in his warm kitchen, she has nothing to focus on but him, and now that red hot want flares brightly again. 

When she ignores his warning, spoken in her name, Tim reacts swiftly, fingers going to the buttons of her shirt, and popping them free even as he deepens the kiss, shoving her shirt off her small shoulders, and down her arms.  No longer does he have to teach, no longer does he have to watch and teach and guide her, now he can just be with her, and the urge to do just that overwhelms him.  With an almost hard shove, he sits her back on the kitchen counter, standing up and kicking the bar stool away in one move, uncaring when it tips over, his lips never leaving hers as he shoves the straps of the white tank top she wore underneath her shirt down her arms. 

It is Melissa who breaks the kiss, lifting her arms and tugging her tank top off, her fingers going to his shirt and tugging it upwards insistently, showing a sudden intensity.  Tim lets go of her long enough to tug the shirt off, throwing it backwards over his shoulder, his fingers going to the buttons on her pants, popping one off the waistband, before he gets her pants undone, and can tug them off of her legs, tugging her panties down with them, and then taking over for her shaking fingers, getting his pants undone and shoved down his hips before his fingers reach for her again.  While he was getting his pants off, Melissa popped the clasp on her bra free, pulled the lacy confection she calls lingerie off, and dropped it on the counter, just as Tim’s mouth met hers again. 

Melissa was shaking the muscles in her legs trembling when his fingers traced over her hips, and then slid in between her legs, trailing over her core for a moment, as her hips lift from the counter, flexing against his fingers, earning her a groan from him.  Her fingers push his boxers down, running over the muscles of his ass, before her nails dig in, trying to tug him closer to her, and finally Tim pulls his mouth free, dragging a breath into his lungs.

“Dammit Melissa, stop…we have to…” He caught his pants just before they hit the floor around his ankles, tugging his wallet from a back pocket, his hands shaking as he tugs the foil wrapped square from his pocket, “Maybe you should make that appointment.”

“Already did.  Have it on Friday”, she smirks up at him, taking the condom from him, and tearing it open.  One hand curls around his length, her touch teasingly light, while she looks up at him. 

“Oh thank God… quit fucking teasing me Hummingbird,” he groans the words out, holding onto the counter top for balance, his eyes closing at her touch.

“I’m going to finish what I started, not a tease”, she grins up at him, her eyes growing dark with want.

Words fail him, and his forehead falls against one of her small shoulders, resting there as she continues her teasingly light, but pleasurably caress up and down his hard length, until the muscles in his arms are bunched tightly, and his knees are shaking.  His teeth sink into her shoulder, as his hips jerk, before he can speak; she tugs the packet open, and slides the latex barrier over him in a smooth move. 

His fingers slide up the inside of her thighs as he sucks a breath into his lungs, willing himself to calm down, wanting her as ready and needy and wanting as he is.  A groan leaves him when her slim thighs part for his fingers, and those same fingers find her slick and ready for him.  For as long as he can hold out, he toys with her, rubbing that tiny bud of nerves, slipping into her willing body, sliding back and forth, and then back out, until Melissa’s hips are lifting from the counter, and she is moaning with each breath she takes into her lungs. 

When she is gasping, when he can feel her tightening around him, when her breath gets that ragged quality, and she is shaking, her fingernails biting into his shoulders, he moves, sliding into her with one almost hard push.  The movement sends Melissa over the edge, and her moan echoes through the kitchen, her legs curling around Tim’s waist and pulling him to her as she buries her face in his shoulder, “Ohmygod Tim…”

“Jesus Christ Melissa”, he wraps his muscled arms around her waist, sliding her closer to the edge of the kitchen counter, balancing her there carefully, pulling her to him as he starts to move.  The afternoon had built up too much, his needs, and hers, spiraled out of control too quickly, and soon he is almost sliding her back up the counter with each thrust, until she braces one arm behind her. 

One slender foot balances on a bar stool, the other leg curls around his waist once more, as she buries her fingers in his thick hair while her lips press to his neck.  Her teeth sink into his skin, not quite gently, but not hard enough to leave marks, raking down his skin, taking bites, and he closes his eyes as he continues to thrust, feeling the familiar sparks of lightening rush through his blood.  As everything grows bright, Melissa tightens around him once more, her fingers almost painful in his hair, adding just the right amount of near-pain, before he explodes, joining her in one final climax. 

It takes a few moments for their breathing to even out, for Tim’s knees to strengthen again, for Melissa’s legs turn back from jelly and her toes to uncurl.  Finally they part, with one last, long, lingering kiss, before he grins down at her, raking his fingers through her now sweaty hair, “Dinner is getting cold.”

“You have a perfectly functioning microwave,” she slips to the floor, picking up her plate, and reaching for his, only to stop when his hand encircles her wrist.

“It was worth it, even if I didn’t”, he grins down at her, grabbing his plate, and walking naked to the microwave.

“You mean you didn’t fake it?” teasingly she sasses at him, sliding his abandoned shirt over her head, and tugging her panties back into place.

“Of all the things I might do, fake it is not one of them.  Especially with you”, with his toes he picks up his abandoned boxers, sliding them back on, and tugging her to lean against his side.

“I take it as a compliment”, she grins up at him, using her free hand to open the door to the microwave and slide one plate out, when it dings at them. 

“You should”, still in nothing but his boxers, he walks towards the den, flipping open the cabinet doors, only to stop and look over at her, “There’s that motorcycle show on tonight, about the bikers out in California.”

“I love that show”, carrying both plates of food, Melissa follows him, setting them down on the coffee table.

“You like it because the blonde guy is naked all the time”, the decision on something to watch made for him, he props his feet on the coffee table after sitting down, slouching until he is comfortable on the cushions.

“Maybe… but there are all kinds of naked women in the show too”, her words float to him as Melissa walks back into the kitchen, carrying her iced tea and his beer.

“You’re still perfect” chuckling at her words, he takes the offered beer, opening it and settling back onto the couch, his plate of food balanced in his lap.

“We’re so domesticated… eating dinner on the couch”, she stretches out, her toes barely propped on the edge of the coffee table, her dinner balanced perilously on her lap.

“Hey now, my laundry is done, my house is clean, I am domesticated.  I’m getting fat and soft in my domesticity.” For emphasis, Tim pinches the bare fold of flesh he can gather off of his stomach, jiggling it.

“Oh my Jesus… you’ll have to gain about 50 pounds before you can complain about being fat and soft.  And that would mean no running,” she laughs, reaching for the remote to turn the tv on.

“Not gonna happen Hummingbird.  I like running too much, it clears my head”, he shakes his head at her, settling back onto the couch. 

“Ballet does that for me.  I run to keep in shape, but when the music is playing, and everything flows right, my head just empties out” Melissa nods in understanding to his words, her gaze drifting back to the tv as their show starts.

By the time the show is over, empty plates and glasses sit on the coffee table, and Melissa is curled beneath a blanket, her frame draped over Tim’s chest, her dark hair spread out across one of his shoulders.  Comfortable, warm from her presence and the added blanket, Tim relaxes, channel surfing with one hand, while his other combs through Melissa’s dark hair.  His features loosen up into something close to contentment, the turmoil of his past and his emotions held at bay for once as the evening passes, both dozing comfortably off and on, until they stumble towards bed.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Wednesday**

Both of them were drawn into work as soon as they walked, hand in hand in the office, meeting only for lunch, before going their separate ways again.  Tim checked in frequently, texting Melissa or the marshal she was with; the beeping of her phone with an incoming text nearly drove her to distraction as she worked.  After lunch she appeared, leading an elementary school age boy by the hand, while a younger boy was carried in by Rachel.  

She sat them down in the war room, spreading out crayons and papers, while she made a few phone calls.  Both boys sat quietly, almost afraid to touch the crayons on the table, until Rachel sat down with them; bruises were evident on their faces and arms, cigarette burns decorated the older boys arms as well, and both had a general look of neglect about them. 

Melissa hung up her cell phone, and leaned into the war room, “Someone will be here for you in a few minutes.  Right now, we need to get you cleaned up.  Rachel, can I borrow you for a few more minutes?”

“Of course.  We can get back to coloring when we’re done, right boys?” with the same casual affection she uses for her nephew, Rachel ruffles the older boy’s greasy, dark brown hair, before picking up the younger boy again.  Melissa takes a camera from her desk, before herding both of them into the locker room. 

Tim’s work had gone ignored while he watched the tableau playing out in front of him, Raylan manning the phones from his desk.  For long moments, the former sniper’s gaze is darker than normal, ghosts haunting his features, before he goes back to work.  But his eyes dart to the locker room repeatedly, where Rachel emerges, wearing a new shirt, and then Melissa and the boys slip out.  Both have been scrubbed clean, hair still damp, dressed in clean clothes, and are wrapped in blankets, as they walk back to the war room. 

Within a few minutes, Melissa is sitting with one boy next to her, and one on her lap, coloring on construction paper.  Art and Raylan stand at Tim’s desk, all three men watching her draw shapes for the boys, which they color in.  She gets giggles out of both of them, making a joke, and teaches the oldest one how to hold three crayons and color with them together, swirling the colors across the page.

“What is she doing?” Raylan looks towards Tim and Art.

“Saving the world”, Tim answers just as Art opens his mouth, his gaze tracing over Melissa as she leans towards the oldest boy, whispering something in his ear that has him giggling again. 

“Exactly that.  Saving the world, one child at a time,” Art nods to Tim’s words, running a hand over his bald head, “And she’s damned good at it.”

As they stand there, an older woman, with salt and pepper hair, walks in, meeting Rachel, who leads her to the war room.  After a few minutes, Melissa walks with the boys to the older woman, stopping to hug and kiss each boy, and letting them take the drawings she has done for them with her. 

“We’ll get some food in them, and get them tucked into a nice warm bed.  Tomorrow they’ll be right as rain Melissa”, the woman smiles warmly at each boy, who slowly, ever so slowly, take the hands she offers them.

“I’ll be in touch as far as court and what is ordered.” Melissa leans forward, tucking strands of hair behind the oldest boy’s ears.

“Issy??  Can we stay with you?” the oldest boy, his arms dotted with round, circular burns, some of which are so new the skin is nearly raw, looks up hopefully at Melissa.

“Sweetheart, I don’t have enough room at my house. And right now, I’m not staying at home.” Shaking her head no, Melissa bends down until she is eye level with the little boy.

“Is there someone bad at your house too?” with unerring accuracy, and the acceptance of someone who has seen far too much at far too early an age, the older boy looks up at her in question.

“He’s not at my house, but the marshal’s want me to stay somewhere different for a few days.” With a small nod, Melissa gestures towards Tim, Raylan, and Art, who are clustered around Tim’s desk, all with visible badges.

“Will you come see us tomorrow?” the younger of the boys, with baby-fat still clinging to his cheeks, tugs his thumb from his mouth to question Melissa.

“How about Friday?  I have a big court date tomorrow.” Melissa’s heavily lashed eyes lift to their new foster mother, who nods in agreement, “But you have to promise me you’ll eat everything at every meal before I get there, you both need some meat on your bones.”

The boys are lead away with one more promise to see them on Friday; and Melissa leans against the door to the war room for a moment, her head bowed.  When her shoulders shift, and one slim hand rises to wipe at her downcast eyes, Tim moves, sliding from his chair silently, and crossing the office to her.

“Does she always cry when this happens?” Raylan nods in Melissa’s direction, lifting one eyebrow in question at the show of emotion

“Wouldn’t you Raylan?” Art turns his gaze from the same direction, and towards Raylan.

The older marshal, having grown up entirely in a home close to what the boys have been taken from, has no answer, and he turns, his face dark with memories of Arlo, and Frances, and Helen, as he makes his way to his desk.  Art turns his gaze back to Melissa, who is standing in the circle of Tim’s arms, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, and mutters to no one in particular as he makes his way towards his office, “She’s too tender hearted for this kind of work.”

Tim lifts Melissa’s face from his shoulder, looking down at her tear filled eyes, “That bad?”

“I’ve seen worse. But his arms, his back, they have burns all over them.  Both of them are covered in bruises, no one is feeding them, no one is taking care of them.” She sniffles, her gaze swimming in tears once again.

“You need armor.” He barely mutters the words, remembering their talk this morning in his dining room.

His words throw Melissa off for a second, and she blinks, looking up at Tim in confusion, “What?”

“If you’re going to save the world, you need armor.” Gently one of his hands coasts down her back, his fingers nearly spanning her waist, before rising back up again.

“I don’t have any.  I don’t carry a gun, or wear a shiny star for a badge.  It’s just me, against the world those boys have grown up in”, one slim shoulder lifts in a shrug, while she wipes her damp cheeks with the backs of her hand. 

“Then take mine.” Uncaring who watches, Tim presses a kiss to her forehead, before his phone starts to ring from his desk, “I have to answer that.”

“It’s fine.  Moments over anyways.”  Slim fingers wipe away the tears brimming in her eyes, and she slips to her desk, adding notes to the new files she has on her desk, for two new rescued boys.  Her phone rings, and while she is on it, Tim slips by her desk, heading for the copy machine, but leaving her favorite candy bar sitting next to her pictures, where she is sure to see it. 

 

The sunset was spectacular that evening.  Sitting in the back of Tim’s SUV, at a park close to their neighborhood, she looked up at the clouds swirled with colors, giving everything a golden, soft glow.  It added a touch of color to Melissa’s porcelain colored skin, and it brought out the red in Tim’s hair.  Dinner, a bucket of chicken with sides, was sitting behind Tim.  Neither of them had spoken much leaving the courthouse, Tim had stopped for dinner, grinning when Melissa wanted honey biscuits with their food, and instead of heading for home, had brought her here. 

It was quiet in the park, too late for families to be there with their children, too early for evening runners, and he had found a spot that faced a small pond, backed into it, and before he was all the way out of the truck, he had found Melissa sitting in the back of his SUV, her small feet propped up on the bumper. 

“You know, we could always sit at a table like we’re civilized or something” he drawled the words as he slid closer to Melissa.  She had drawn her knees up to her chest, and had her small chin propped on one as he spoke.

“Do you want to??” her bright gaze flicked to Tim for a moment, strands of shiny, chocolate dark hair falling into her eyes.

“I want to do whatever you feel like.  You had the crappy day, not me”, gently he tucked her hair behind her ears, a small smile curling his mouth as he takes in her nearly oversized ears.

At his smile, one of Melissa’s eyebrows arched upwards, “Did I get mashed potatoes in my hair or something?”

“Nope” his small grin turns into a smirk as he shakes his head at her.

“Then what is so funny??” One dark eyebrow lifts as she looks over at him, popping the last of a biscuit into her mouth.

“Your ears.” Gently he reaches out to tuck her hair behind one of her ears as he speaks.

At his words, her hands rise up to cover her ears, as her cheeks turn a shade of red that nearly matches the sunset unfolding before them, “I hate them.  They’re huge.”

“It’s cute.”

“I hate that word.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah.  I can’t be sexy, or smoldering, or elegant.  I’m cute.” She heaves a sigh, rolling her bright gaze heavenward in distaste at being called cute.

“Remember when you told me you liked comfy?” With practiced efficiency, he gathers up trash around them, scooping it into a paper bag stained with grease from the chicken, and tosses it into a trash can. 

For an answer, she merely nods at him, watching him through her sparkling blue gaze.

“I like cute.  I’ve seen women who are all those other things.  And they don’t have any heart, any fight, any determination.  You have all of those things.  I like that too.” As he closes the lid on a container of macaroni and cheese, he leans over to her, his free hand tugging on one of her ears.

“You make my ears seem way better than they really are”, for the first time since this morning, she seems to relax, her smile making it all the way to her eyes. 

“That’s my job”, gracefully, he slid from the back bumper, his hand reaching for, and then finding hers, and tugging her to her feet, “C’mon, let’s go feed the ducks.”

“The ducks??” both of her eyebrows rise at his statement, seemingly incongruous with the man who keeps a full set of tactical gear in the back of his car.

“It’s a secret.  When I can’t think straight, I come down here and feed the ducks.” Taking a couple of biscuits with him, he walks down a winding path, bordered with low hanging weeping willows. 

Melissa follows after him, tugging a sketchbook and a couple of pencils from her messenger bag, and then falling into step with him.  Tim stops at a bench, set close to the water, and eases onto it, stretching his legs out in front of him, one hand reaching for Melissa’s wrist, and tugging her down to sit with him.  Just as she sets her sketchbook down beside her, the first ducks appear, gliding through the water, and quacking at them in anticipation. 

A wide, genuine grin lifts the corners of his mouth as he breaks one of the biscuits into pieces, tossing them to the eager birds, who squabble over the pieces floating on the water in front of them, “Why did you bring me here?”

“To relax?  Because the view is nice?” one shoulder lifts in a shrug as he tosses more biscuit to the ducks.

“You don’t like being still, do you?” Melissa’s bright blue gaze focuses fully on him, staring at him from beneath a curtain of dark lashes.

“Not now Hummingbird.  Don’t start that now.” Rather than look at her, and drown in his gaze, reveal everything in his head to her, and leave himself without any defense, anything to hide behind, Tim continues to feed the ducks, tossing smaller and smaller pieces towards the squabbling birds.

“Start what?” Her lashes fall as she blinks, frowning in confusion at Tim, one hand reaching out to run down his arm. 

“That looking right through me stuff.  That stuff”, he pauses, heaving a sigh and then the words start to flow again, before he can stop them, “You get inside my head and see all this shit… mostly shit I don’t want anyone to see.”

“I’m not afraid of you, or what you’ve done, or what you’ve seen, you know that, right?” She absent mindedly spins a pencil around her fingers, but her gaze stays locked on Tim.

“I know”, his gaze remains focused on the ducks, but the muscles in his jaw tick, and he pops his knuckles, as if his hands are looking for something to do.

“So we don’t have to do…. This” she waves one small hand towards the pond, glistening with the glow of a warm sunset, dotted with ducks, geese and swans, and encircled with weeping willows. 

“I didn’t get to do a lot of it.  I’ve never done a lot of it.  I was always busy, training, working, deployed.  And the marshal service isn’t conductive to romance… so I want to do it”, at her rather skeptical look, he sighs, raking a hand through his mussed hair, the strands glinting red and gold in the sunset, “And maybe I want to keep the monster at bay.”

“You know I’m going to see the monster, one day. And that’s ok, I’ve seen them before”, she moves to sit next to him, slowly, until her legs are dangling over his leg and into his lap, one arm curled around his back, and her cheek resting on his shoulder, pencil and sketch pad forgotten for the moment.

Tim is powerless, and in a moment where he would normally turn away from comfort, he seeks it out, tugging her until her small frame is in his lap, and burying his face in her neck and shoulder, “Not today.  Just… not today.”

“Not today”, she agrees to his words, running one hand down his back and then up in the same gentle rhythm she has used on him before, rubbing over tense and sore muscles until he starts to relax.  Curled up that way, still on the bench, surrounded by ducks they occasionally feed pieces of biscuit to, they watch the sun sink further and further behind the low hanging branches of weeping willow trees, turning the sky red, yellow, amber, streaking color across a darkening sky before finally dropping past the horizon.  Only when the still of twilight hangs in the air, do they move, heading for Tim’s house, and spending the evening wrapped around each other, movies playing on the tv in his den, pushing the next day, off as long as they can.

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Tuesday Night**

Tim’s dark blue gaze flicks open, and within seconds, sleep is gone.  The training pounded into him by the Army has never faded, and he is awake and alert in just a few moments.  In his arms, Melissa jerks, flinching in her sleep, her chest rising and falling rapidly, tears already damp on her cheeks.   

With a sigh, he pushes up until he’s sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, and tugs Melissa’s sleeping form to him, until she is cuddled against his muscled chest.  As he moves her, she jerks hard enough to wake herself up, and her tear filled eyes fly open.  For a second, she fights him, stiffening against him, pushing with her arms and legs, and the muscles in his arms bulge as he pulls her to him, “You had a bad dream.  I’m right here.”

Melissa says nothing, her small form crumpling against his, and she buries her face in his muscled chest, small sobs hiccupping from her, as she shakes with another tremor.  The sound tugs at Tim’s heart, he knows how it feels to wake up from a nightmare, and there have been nights he was close to crying himself.  Through her tears, he hears the ragged breaths, speeding up, and one of his hands grips hers, giving her something to cling to.

“You’re fine, I’m right here Hummingbird.  Nothing is going to happen” Watching her sends pain radiating through his chest, knowing first-hand what she is going through, and Tim struggles to keep calm himself.  Through his palm, he can feel her heart, racing and tripping over itself so quickly he cannot, with all his training, distinguish one beat from the next. 

“Cold.  I’m so cold”, covered in sweat, Melissa is rapidly growing cold, her skin prickling with goose bumps.

At her words, he makes a sympathetic hum in his throat, letting go of her back to tug the blanket they had been sleeping under over her further, and then pulling her closer to him.  As soon as she is huddled against his chest, reminding him of a lost kitten, he resumes rubbing her back in gentle circles, “Breathe.  Slow.  Slow.  That’s it.”

He continues rubbing her back, feeling her small frame jerk with every tremor, feeling them taper off, until a final series of tremors wracks her small form, and she sniffles miserably, her eyes still cloudy with tears, which fall on his chest as she heaves a sigh, “I’m sorry…”

“What did you tell me, don’t be sorry?  Melissa, you’re scared.  You have every right to be,” Inwardly, Tim curses Craig Duncan and his vile, dangerous threats to the darkest pit of hell, while outwardly he struggles to keep Melissa calm, “I told you I would save you.  That hasn’t changed.”

“Still feel like a crybaby”, one hand, no longer shaking, rises to wipe at her tears, only to be stopped by one his hands, doing that for her.  Melissa sighs, burrowing her face against his chest once more.

“Shut up Hummingbird.  Most women I know would have been crying long before this.  You’re tougher than you think”, when she burrows against him, he lifts her chin off of his chest, tugging it upwards until they’re nose to nose. His gaze is tired, concerned, his eyes dark with sympathy as he takes her equally tired face in. 

“If you say so.  I’m still cold”, Pressed up against the walking furnace that is Tim, wrapped in a blanket thick enough to ward off a chill, Melissa shivers, goose bumps popping up on her arms once more.

“Come on, there is only one cure for this that I know of”, with the gentlest of moves, belying the strength in his arms and hands, Tim pushes Melissa off his lap, and then slides from the bed, tugging her to her bare feet and after him as he walks towards the kitchen.

“And that is??” she follows him, curling up on the stool he pushes her to, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  Beneath the layers of dark hair that frame her face, her eyes are swollen, her pale skin blotchy from crying, tear tracks still drying on her cheeks.

For a moment he doesn’t answer, instead he pours milk into a coffee cup, sets it in the microwave, and turns it on, before turning back to her, “Hot chocolate.  Rachel swears it works.”

“You make hot chocolate in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep?” Melissa lifts one eyebrow dubiously at Tim, leaning forward to fold her arms on the kitchen island, and then prop her chin on her arms.

“No, I make it in the evening and read.  Don’t tell anyone, I’ll lose what little respect I have around here”, as the microwave dings, Tim opens a packet of hot chocolate mix, stirring it into the steaming hot milk, and then slides the cup over the butcher block counter top, towards Melissa.  He watches her intently, taking in the dark circles forming beneath her swollen eyes, and the blotchiness to her skin. 

“I feel like I’m 10 again”, Melissa smiles at him over the top of the coffee mug, taking a sip and then closing her eyes, letting the warmth soothe her. 

“That’s a good thing?” Unsure of what 10 was like for her, it was a particularly shitty year for him, he looks up from his fingers, raising his eyebrows in question.

“It was.  10 was a good year.  Everyone was home, everyone was happy, it was a rare thing for us” she takes another sip of the hot chocolate, before sitting it down and curling one hand around her, the other still in Tim’s grip.

“Everyone was happy?” He parrots the words back at her, his head tilting to one side as he slides onto the bar stool next to her.

Melissa heaves a sigh, picking at the clear polish on her thumbnail for a moment, before nodding to his words, “My parents didn’t have a fairytale marriage.  They were both human, with faults and flaws and issues, and sometimes…. They just didn’t mesh well.  My dad could be a huge asshole when he wanted to be.  And my Mom was always over sensitive to anything that sounded like criticism.”

Tim blinks once, then twice, letting the information sink in.  He had, over the course of a few days, built up this fantasy of Melissa growing up in a perfect family that had been blown apart by war, “Did they fight a lot?”

“Not a whole lot.  Not all the time.  But when they did, they’d have ferocious, yelling, screaming, door slamming fights.  I think my Mom even threw my Dad’s boots at him a couple of times”, she turns to face Tim on the bar stool, curling both of her hands around her mug of hot chocolate and holding it on her lap.

“But they didn’t when you were 10?” for a moment, Tim’s eyes go dark, seeing a young Melissa, all knees and elbows, dealing with her parents struggling marriage.  The urge to protect her, even when his own family went through so much worse, nearly overwhelms him.  He stays still though, keeping his face neutral, and his emotions in check.

“For most of that year, no they didn’t.  We were at Hunter that year, Dad was mostly training, and on the weekends we’d go to the beach, or go tour Savannah, or walk down River Street, do family stuff.  It’s the only time I can remember us doing that, the rest of the time, Dad was busy being Super Soldier, Mom was busy trying to keep us together, and the boys were being boys”, a small, tiny smile flits across her face, at the memories, and she sips at the hot chocolate.

“And you??  What did you do the rest of the time?” he pulls another steaming mug of milk out of the microwave, mixing hot chocolate into it, and sliding onto the stool next to her.

“I was the perfect one.  Mikey was Dad’s shadow, trying to be him, Mason was the hellion, and I was the perfect one.  Perfect grades, never fought, never argued, never yelled, never missed curfew.  I learned to be perfect, to keep the peace in the family”, her smile leaves her, and she drops her bright crystalline blue gaze into her hot chocolate, studying the swirling milk and chocolate mixture intently.

“Damn Melissa”, Tim sighs, and then leans forward, taking the mug from her, setting it on the kitchen counter, and then tugging her to him.  He slides off of his stool at the same time, meeting her halfway, and folding her into his arms.  So much of her makes more sense, her drive for perfection, the way she works until she drops. 

“It wasn’t all bad.  And I know people had it much worse” Melissa heaves a sigh, burying her face against his chest, her cheek pressed against his tags. 

“Feeling better??” slowly, and gently, he cups her face in his hands, tipping her head back towards him, his intense gaze studying her carefully. 

Melissa nods, motioning to the cup of now cooling hot chocolate on the counter, “Rachel was right, it does help.”

One quick glance at the clock on the stove reveals it’s past midnight, plenty of time for a few more hours of sleep, and Tim tugs at the blanket he wrapped Melissa in, pulling her towards his bedroom, “C’mon, you need sleep.”

“So do you” Melissa counters as she follows, rising on her toes as she walks on the cold floor.

“I can function without sleep”, once he gets Melissa in the bedroom, Tim steps back out, walking the house, double-checking the locks, and re-arming the alarm.  Back in his bedroom, he steps into the closet, and flips open the light, digging through a few boxes he has sitting on the closet floor.

“What’re you doin’??” already in bed, and yawning, Melissa looks up at him, frowning in confusion.

“Getting something”, when he emerges from the closet, he is carrying a small stuffed kitten, with bright blue eyes.  Sitting on the edge of the bed closest to Melissa, he holds it out to her, tentatively, as if waiting for her to reject it.

She reaches out for the stuffed toy, which is just large enough to snuggle with, curling up around it as she lays on her side, resting one porcelain smooth cheek against the top of the kitten’s fluff-filled head, “Where did you get it??”

“Won it at the carnival last spring, at the shooting game”, at the sight of her, curled up around the toy and hugging it to her chest, he grins, stretching out onto the bed.  The stuffed kitten is dropped on his chest, before Melissa takes what has become her spot, her head resting in the spot between his shoulder and chest, and she draws the kitten back to her, “I take it I did good?”

“You did good.  I’m keeping it”, she yawns around the words, her lashes already drifting closed, “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Go to sleep Hummingbird.  I won’t let you fall”, although he relaxes on the bed, one hand idly stroking through Melissa’s dark hair, his eyes are intense, and hard-set in his face.  The possibilities of the day ahead, of what he will have to protect her from, what they might face when they walk into the courtroom in the morning, all run through his head.  Sleep will not come yet for him, not until he has a plan for the morning.

It seems like his eyes had just fallen shut when the alarm starts to blare angrily at him.  One hand reaches out with unerring accuracy, and smacks the snooze button, the other hand reaches out for Melissa, and finds her buried under the pillow, both arms pining it down around her head, the edges of her long hair trailing out around the pillowcase.  The pillow moves, and from underneath it he finds a pair of bright blue eyes watching him, although the room is dark enough he cannot make out many of her features.

“Morning Hummingbird”, he grins at her, pushing himself up and to the edge of the bed, “Skipping the run today.”

“Oh Sweet Jesus, thank you”, heaving a sigh of relief, Melissa moves out from under the pillow, her hair a tangled mess of chocolate tinted silk.

Laughing, Tim makes his way to the bathroom, leaning back out with the toothbrush dangling from his mouth, “Breakfast at the doughnut shop?”

Melissa does not answer; she is standing in front of Tim’s dresser drawer, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.  In her hands is the large, oversized watch she has always worn, her father’s watch. 

“Hummingbird?” his steely blue gaze widening for a moment, Tim spits the mouthful of toothpaste out in the sink, and in a few strides, is standing beside Melissa.  Gently he takes the watch from her, looking at it carefully, “It’s just the battery.  We can drop it off at that jewelry store near the bookstore on the way in.”

“It doesn’t open until 9, and I have to be in court at 9.  I always wear it, and when it gets slow I take it in, and I just forgot over the weekend.  I’m never without it, it’s my…” she sniffles again, the tears shimmering in her eyes clinging to her thick lashes.

“It’s your armor”, Tim finishes for her, tugging her to his chest.  He has seen just flashes of the pain her father’s death still brings to her, how it has reverberated through her life, altering the course it took.  His arms curl around her, still holding the watch in his hands, while his gaze lifts to the ceiling, as if looking for help.  As he looks up, he catches a flash of something from his dresser, from the neat arrangement of his belongings, and inspiration strikes him. 

Melissa looks up from his shoulder, where she was staring into space, letting her past wash over her, when he moves, and takes a step back.  A chill breaks out over her when his calloused fingers brush over the tattoo on her wrist, the tiny daisies linked together, before he slides his watch around her wrist, tightening the black leather strap as far as it will go, and then sliding the face around her wrist, until it rides against the inside of her wrist, the same as he wears it.

“You can borrow mine”, as he finishes with his task, he looks up at her face, smiling at her, “But you have to wear it like I do.”

For a moment, Melissa says nothing, her dark head bowed, as she stares at the watch.  It’s a simple affair, numbers large enough to be easily read, taking up the majority of the inside of her wrist, with a thick black leather strap that bears the marks of use and abuse.  But the symbolism behind his gesture, that he understands her watch wasn’t just a simple watch, and offers his to fill the gap, brings the tears back to her eyes, and she throws her arms around his neck, “Thank you.”

For a moment, when she did not move, when he could not really see her face, he was unsure if he had done the right thing or not.  But the moment in the morning sun, when she had put his gun on his hip and his badge on his belt, had stuck with him, reverberating through his day, and he wanted, needed, to give her back some of that.  Tim was no slouch with women, he had always had someone to warm his bed when he wanted it, but he had never wanted one to stay more than the night, and just when he started to curse his lack of experience with the mysteries of a real relationship with a woman, Melissa moved.  He found himself with an armful of sleep warmed woman, her arms wound so tightly around his neck for a moment it was hard to breath, as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.  The feeling of having gotten something right, the warm feeling of a moment of pure perfection, hits him as he adjusts his grip on Melissa’s waist.  He had felt it the first time when she had done this, flung her arms around his neck, after he had made a star-gazing date for them over the weekend, and it was still as potent now as it was then.  Grinning like a fool for a second, his chest puffing out with pride, he hugs her to him gently, “You’re welcome Hummingbird.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Thursday**

Judge Judith Ferguson sat in her court room, her dark brown eyes taking in the scene before her; a row of seats taken up by several extra marshals, in the middle sat Melissa St. Germain.  For a few hours now, she had listened to the lawyers, the experts, the psychologist, the guardian ad lietum, the foster parents, all talk about the Duncan girls.  A notepad on the wide bench in front of her was overflowing with notes, several pages long. 

She glanced up over the top of her reading glasses, to see the three marshals sitting in the back of the court room, as Melissa made her way to the witness stand.  Three marshals had come in with the social worker, keeping her in the middle of their group, sitting her in the middle of them.  In all the time Melissa had been testifying in Family Court, since coming to Lexington, never had she walked in with an armed escort.  It was a rare thing for Melissa to ask for the rights of a parent to be severed, usually she worked her magic with the parents, reforming and teaching, and in the end mending a family; or at the very least, talking a parent into voluntarily giving up their rights.  To ask the court to intervene was an unusual move on her part, but each person that had testified had been in agreement with Melissa.  Two unusual things, both because of the case Judge Ferguson was hearing this morning.

Melissa stood in the witness stand; her dark hair twisted into a simple bun on the back of her neck, and raised her right hand, swearing to tell the truth.  Judge Ferguson personally loved when Melissa was the assigned social worker, she took immaculate notes, made thorough, well-researched decisions, was always prepared to testify, spoke well on the witness stand. As young as she was, and as young as she looked, already the woman was a force to be reckoned with inside the family courts.  For several minutes she outlined what she had seen the first day, the confrontation with Craig Duncan when he waved a shot-gun at her, the state the girls had been in, and the progress they had made.  The smile that flitted across her face when she mentioned the oldest girl’s progress in school revealing just how attached Melissa had grown to the three girls.  It was difficult to see how each case did not become that way for her; the Judge herself had a wall full of pictures of children from cases she had worked, that she personally maintained contact with.

“Neither Mr. or Mrs. Duncan have started parenting classes, let alone finished them, Mr. Duncan has yet to start anger management classes, both have never shown up for any drug testing.  A home inspection done several weeks ago showed the state of the house to be the same as when the girls were removed.  I have been unable to inspect the house since then; neither Mr. nor Mrs. Duncan will return my calls to set up a good time for a home visit.” Melissa finished reading from the notes, entered into evidence, before her, looking up at the CAPS attorney standing in front of her.

“Thank you Ms. St. Germain” the attorney handling the case motions the Duncan’s table, where Craig Duncan sits, glowering with all of his might at Melissa, “Your witness.”

“Melissa, first, let me thank you for your files, they were easy to read and well kept. As a lawyer, I appreciate that,” The Duncan’s attorney, smoothly rises from his seat next to the Duncans.  Craig Duncan, dressed in a pair of slacks that were almost too small for his beer gut, and a shirt that was stretched to the limits, his hair slicked back, his features, pock-marked by the scars of drug use, sneered at Melissa.  His wife, a small woman who bore the marks of a hard, difficult life, fairly cowered beside her husband, her hands jumpy as the drugs she was addicted to start to work their way out of her system.

Melissa said nothing, coolly waiting for the lawyer’s question.  Years of experience had taught her to speak on the stand only when asked a direct question, and to keep her features carefully composed and neutral.  From his spot on the back row, Tim tensed every time Craig Duncan moved, the muscles in his arms bunching and moving, his fingers flexing.  Raylan, sitting one seat down from him, watched with an almost bored expression on his face, but his golden brown eyes missed nothing, and a small muscle ticked in his jaw when the lawyer spoke.  Rachel, sent in by Art to keep the peace, watched with an openly curious expression on her face, although her eyes were intense as she kept an eye on the Duncans. 

“I see you have been a social worker for some time.  And your record is one of hard-work and fairness,” the attorney continued to speak, as if looking over some notes.  Finally, he heaved a breath, and looked up at Melissa, grinning maliciously, “May I inquire as to where you stayed this past weekend?”

The courtroom got very loud, very quickly, the CAPS attorney springing to his feet, yelling an objection, Craig Duncan jumping to his feet and yelling about the entire affair, and his attorney trying to both quiet him and argue his point.  Melissa had gone white for a moment, before finding her composure, her chin lifting and her eyes taking on the icy cast that signaled her anger.  Rachel laid a restraining hand on Tim’s arm, murmuring something, the former sniper stiff, his expression near murderous, and Raylan flexed in his fingers, the bored expression changing to one of intense scrutiny and focus.  Finally, Judge Ferguson banged her gavel on the wooden top of her bench, hard, several times, her firm voice yelling for order, “I will give you, Mr. Lawson, one try to explain to me why you have just brought up Ms. St. Germain’s personal life in my court room.”

“We have it on good authority that she is romantically involved with a marshal, and the marshal’s are known to have an ax to grind with my client’s associates.  Could be this is just a stunt from the marshal’s office to rattle my client’s into giving up their associates”, the man leered at Melissa as he spoke, motioning to the back row, where the three marshal’s sat, “I ask the question because she has been seen with one recently.”

Judge Ferguson heaved an inward sigh, she was no stranger to the courthouse gossip, and it had been hot and heavy since last week, when Melissa had gone to lunch with Tim.  But she had also been on the receiving end of some of Craig Duncan’s rage and vitriol; she had marshals stationed in her court room, and one escorting her to the courthouse and back home every day.  From Art she knew the marshals had closed ranks around Melissa, and were providing her with protection until this case was resolved, “There have been some serious allegations of threats and harassment from your client, which are due to be addressed with Judge Reardon later on.  I am going to make a leap of faith here, and say that the marshals have stepped in to protect Melissa.  That said, any suggestion of impropriety needs to be cleared up right now. However, I will do the questioning for now.  Melissa, let me remind you that you are under oath before I ask this; where did you spend the weekend?”

“It’s common knowledge that Raylan Givens is a ladies’ man.  I’m sure he has made it his business to “protect” Melissa”, the lawyer, making a stab in the dark, names the wrong man, bringing a snort of laughter from all of the marshals in the court room. 

“Counselor, I will remind you I am doing the questioning at the moment.” Judge Ferguson leans forward, pointing at herself with one finger, and glaring at the attorney over the top of her reading glasses.

“To answer your question, Your Honor, it was not with U.S. Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens.  I do know about Mr. Duncan’s alleged connection to the Crowders, and I also know about Marshal Givens complicated history with that area of Harlan as well”, Melissa manages a cold smile at the lawyer, shaking her head at him, which earns her an insidious glare from Craig Duncan, “To answer your question, I stayed with U.S. Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson over the weekend.”

Craig Duncan blinks, turning to one of the men in the row behind him, who lifts one shoulder in a shrug, mouthing the words “He said she was with a marshal” back at the angry man.  Mr. Lawson blinks owlishly at Melissa for a moment, his gaze flicking back to Craig Duncan as the man resettles in his chair, before looking to the judge. 

“Melissa, I do this with great distaste, but I want this official and on the record.  Are you and Marshal Gutterson involved in any way other than professionally?” Judge Ferguson spares a glare at both Craig Duncan and his attorney, before turning to Melissa. 

The object of the judge’s question meets Melissa’s bright blue eyes with his own steel blue and gray ones, subtly nodding his head, and Melissa lifts his chin up to meet Judge Ferguson’s gaze, “Yes your honor.  We are.”

“And did you file the motion to sever the Duncan’s parental rights before or after you became involved with Marshal Gutterson?” the Judge writes in her notepad, her gaze flicking between Melissa and the striped paper, while the court report types at a near inhuman rate.

“Well before.  The motion was originally filed several months ago.” For a split second, her voice wavers, and Melissa uses every ounce of willpower to keep from looking back at Tim, wanting to hide behind him again.  She was being forced, again, to reveal her personal life in open court, and the parallels to her heart break in Austin rake on her nerves. 

“Does this motion have any bearing on any investigation by the marshal’s office, or any law enforcement agency, into the alleged activities of Boyd Crowder, or any of his alleged associates, including Craig Duncan?” her distaste at the line of questioning obvious, Judge Ferguson continues, writing notes on her pad as the court reporter, her expression neutral, continues to work.

“Absolutely not.” Without looking at Tim, Melissa’s voice does not falter this time, and her chin lifts another notch, as she pulls herself together.

“From your notes, you were directed to the Duncan’s house by an anonymous tip, correct?” still writing her notepad, Judge Ferguson spares a glance to the marshals on the back row of seating, noticing Tim’s dark glare, the set of his jaw, as well as Raylan and Rachel’s glares.

“Yes.  The hotline received a call about the state of the house and the three girls; I am mandated by law to start an investigation based on any tip we receive.”  Melissa nods to the question, her spine straightening, the steel in her reserves pushing back against the tension in the court room.

“And that was when you found the state of the home and the girls, as detailed in your reports?” Judge Ferguson keeps her voice neutral, but her gaze is direct as she looks over at Melissa.

“Yes.  Because of both the house and the girls, I could legally remove the girls then, which I did.” Melissa flicks a glare at Craig Duncan, her eyes bright with anger.

“Now, Mr. Lawson”, turning her attention to the Duncan’s attorney, Judge Ferguson pins the man with a tough look over the top of her reading glasses, “I think we have addressed whether or not the investigation and motion were filed as a stunt from the marshal’s office.  It was not.  I will not have you question this witness, or any witness for that matter, this way again.  Am I clear?”

“Yes your honor.” The lawyer nods, keeping one hand clamped around Craig Duncan’s shoulder.

“If anyone pulled any kind of stunt this morning, it was you, not the marshals or Ms. St. Germain.  If, in the future you have a concern like this, you will bring it to my attention through the proper channels, and not any other way.” With one hand, the judge pushes her notepad to one side, setting her pen down for the moment.

“Yes your honor.  I was merely trying to make sure my client’s rights were being adequately defended.  After all, there is quite a show of force from the marshal’s office this morning.” His plan obviously derailed, Mr. Lawson seems to deflate as he stands in front of Melissa.

“Yes, I am sure that is exactly what you were doing.  And I am sure that is what they believe as well.  Let us be clear on this point, there is a show of force from the marshals office this morning because of threats your client has made to myself, and Ms. St. Germain”, Judge Ferguson’s doubt is evident in her response, as is her aggravation with the situation.

“Yes your honor.” He nods, heading back to the defense table, where Craig Duncan sits, nearly purple with rage.

“Ms. St. Germain was the last witness for the state, do you have any further questions for her?” her dark gaze flicks to the CAPS attorney, one eyebrow arching as she speaks.

“No your honor.” From his spot at the table, the CAPS attorney shakes his head no from his spot at the table, giving Melissa a small smile of support as he speaks.

“Ms. St. Germain, thank you for your testimony, and I apologize on the court’s behalf for the intrusion into your personal life.  You may step down now”, as Melissa slips off the witness stand, Judge Ferguson tugged her reading glasses off, taking a moment to carefully fold them and slide them into a case, “Now, it’s been a long morning, and I don’t know about anyone else, but I am starving.  We’re going to break for lunch, and then Mr. Lawson, at 1 you may begin calling any witnesses you have.  We are adjourned.”

By the time Judge Ferguson had retreated to her chambers, nursing a painful headache, Melissa was standing in front of Rachel, Raylan, and Tim.  Leaving the court room Tim walked beside her with his hand on her back, Raylan walked directly behind her, close enough his boots brushed against the backs of her flats several times, and Rachel walked in front.  The group tightened when Craig Duncan, his now shivering wife, and lawyer came out of the doors, and Rachel shifted her path, putting the hallway in between them.  As soon as the elevator doors opened, they walked into it, Tim leaning against the wall and glaring with all of his might at Raylan, who glared back, while Rachel rubbed at her temples, and Melissa stood in the middle, arms wrapped around her waist, shivering.


	30. Chapter 30

Once inside the bull pen at the office, the argument started, even before Art could get off the phone with an update from the marshals upstairs with Judge Ferguson.

“This is all your fault Raylan”, Tim stalks through the bull pen, slamming his chair back against the wall and slouching into it.

“How is it my fault?” Raylan stands at his desk, raising his eyebrows at Tim, while fighting the urge to grin at the sniper’s rare show of temper.  Melissa had a much tighter hold on the former sniper than he realized, and his emotions were getting the better of him, a chink in his armor.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe by not arresting Boyd Crowder.  Again.”  Tim’s chair slid across the floor, banging into the wall behind his desk, practically thrown there by Tim.

“I shot the man.  He should be dead.  And I can’t arrest him for no good reason.” Raylan shrugs, taking his hat and placing it on a peg of the coat rack.

“You’re here to find the reason why we can arrest him.  All you’ve done is chase Winona all around town like some god damn puppy dog!!”  Tim was flat out shouting now, abandoning his chair to stand in front of Raylan, nearly toe to toe with him as the taller man turns back from the coat rack.

“Do you have to do this now??” Rachel spoke up, coming to stand beside Tim and Raylan, reaching out for Raylan’s shoulder, tugging him a step back, and sliding in between the two men.

“I have been doing as much as I could!!!  You go down to Harlan and see what you can do!!” Raylan allowed himself to be moved, as Rachel slid between them and pushed them further apart.

“Could have done more than you have!!” Tim was fairly snarling at Raylan, not moving from his spot as Rachel pushed against his chest. 

“Then you do it!!” Raylan’s voice went from his usual, honey smooth calm, to a shout that matched Tim’s, gesturing towards the doors to the marshal’s office.

“Would you both shut up!!” Rachel added her yell to the fray, abandoning shoving at Tim to push harder against Raylan, getting nowhere.  Forgotten in the yelling, Melissa stood at her desk, head buried in her hands, her skin nearly matching the copy paper on her desk, watching the scene before her through her fingers.

“ENOUGH!!!” Art roars from the doorway of his office, startling everyone, the secretary at the front desk dropping her phone at his yell, “Office.  All of you.”

In stony silence, Tim and Raylan make their way to Art’s office, followed by a glowering Rachel, clearly pissed at being drug into another one of their messes, and finally by Melissa, who takes a seat and refuses to meet anyone’s gaze.

“What happened this morning in court was inevitable.  It was bound to come out that you two are seeing each other, and an accusation like that is typical for some low-life lawyer,” Art started immediately, directing his words to Melissa, although his tone softened, “Melissa, you handled it extremely well, I’m told, and were a credit to your office as well as this one.”

“It was a bullshit move” Tim started to speak, stretching an arm over the back of Melissa’s chair.

“Course it was, he’s a lawyer, what did you expect?” After asking the question, Art holds up one hand, shaking his head no, “Let’s not get into that.  I understand that tensions are a little high, and I’m sure Melissa’s nerves are shot.  Melissa, let me apologize, Tim and Raylan fight like that, you’re gonna need to get used to it.  But enough bickering.  Boyd Crowder is a slippery bastard, let’s up the reward for any information leading to his arrest, Raylan go down to Harlan and see if you can’t shake anything loose.”

The quick-draw marshal, brooding from his spot, nods, long legs stretched out in front of him, “I might deliver news of the increased reward to Boyd’s associates in person.”

“Rachel, you and Tim will stay with Melissa until the verdict.  How long will it take Judge Ferguson to reach one?” Art’s tired gaze swings back to Melissa, and he sighs when he sees her, looking so small she could pass for the children she protects.

“We go back for any defense witnesses and closing arguments at 1.  Normally it takes her an hour or so after that.  Depending on whom they call and how long it takes, it might be late this afternoon, or tomorrow morning.” Another tremor wracks her frame, and she shivers, tugging her jacket around her shoulders tigher.

“They don’t have much of a leg to stand on, at this point in time, from what I understand.  If there isn’t a verdict, you need to stay with Tim tonight, or we can put you up in a hotel and make this an official protection detail.  However, if we do that, Tim, you can stay with her, but not as part of her detail,” Art holds up a hand, when all four of them start to open their mouths at once, “I’m not budging on this.  If there is a verdict, and Craig starts in with the threats again, we will have the grounds to arrest him on the spot, then we will do it.  Are we clear on this?”

“Who will be her protection detail?” Tim speaks the words tightly, one knee bouncing as he speaks.

“Raylan, Nelson, Rachel, the two extras from Cleveland, local PD, anyone but you.  After court this morning, you are officially off any protection detail for Melissa.  Now, if you happen to be there with her, in addition to her detail, and something happens, and you have to shoot someone, that’s different.  But you will not be there in any official capacity.” Art’s voice hardens as he speaks, looking back at Tim, shifting his focus away from Melissa.

“I’m not staying in a hotel.  I’m not running.” Under Art’s gaze, and at his words, she snaps out back to herself, and shakes her head no at Art’s words.

“Then you’re staying at Tim’s.  But if Duncan gets any worse, I would recommend you let us make this official and give you a protection detail.” Art sighs at Melissa and looks longingly at the drawer he keeps a bottle of bourbon in.

“If this gets any worse, you’re going to the hotel.” Tim grits the words out, looking at Melissa out of the corner of his eyes.

“I am not.” Melissa turns to look at Tim, glaring at him with as much cold force as she muster.

“Yes you are.” Nonplussed, he answers back at her, meeting her gaze calmly, but with determination.

“What are you gonna do, handcuff me and drag me to one?” still she glares at him, feeling her temper start to rise, as her nerves get the best of her.

“If I have to.” He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, slouching further in his chair.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Indignant, she turns further in her chair, until she’s facing him, her eyes narrowing in anger.

“Don’t push me Melissa.” Tim’s irritation shows as he turns to face her, leaning towards her, his features set like stone.

“God dammit!!  Enough!!” Art yells again, wincing as his head starts to pound, “If it’s not Raylan and you, it’s you and her.  You can’t force her to the hotel, she’s right.”

“If she just shows up at the hotel somehow, can we keep her there?” Raylan speaks, gesturing to the handcuffs on one hip, drawn out of his thoughts by the small blow-up between Tim and Melissa.  The sparkle in his eyes showed some amusement, scared, shivering Melissa was gone, and she was a hellcat suddenly, snarling at Tim, and turning her icy gaze on him after he mentions showing up at a hotel with her hand-cuffed.

“If Melissa shows up at a hotel for protection and either of you have handcuffed her and brought her in, I will bury you both in paperwork for the next year.  Am I clear?” Art growls the words out, before dropping his bald head into his hands, “God dammit, a quiet day.  What do I have to do for a quiet day?”

No one answers him, but all four glance at each other, Tim and Melissa meeting in a clash of icy cold bright blue eyes, and calm darker blue ones, Raylan glaring at Rachel, who glares at him back, having had her full of everything for today. 

“Raylan, go to Harlan, see what you can’t shake loose, let everyone know we are upping the reward however you want to.  Rachel, do whatever you’ve got to do until court this afternoon,” Art pauses, taking in Melissa’s icy glare, but also her paler than normal skin, and the dark circles around her eyes, “May I step over my bounds, and suggest Melissa, that you get something to eat and some fresh air?”

“I’m not hungry” Melissa makes every effort to not sound like a petulant child, but her words bring a small grin to the chief deputy’s features anyways.

“Tim, by way of an apology, I suggest lunch at her favorite spot.  And flowers, I’d suggest some flowers at this point in time.” Art gestures back towards the doors to his office, clearly done with everyone for the moment.

For a moment, Tim blinked in confusion, looking at Melissa, who avoided his stare, and then back to Art, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, “Flowers?”

“You are one of the most capable marshals I know,” Art paused, looking at Raylan and then pointing at the older marshal for emphasis, “But you know less about women than he does.  Take her to lunch, do something to say I’m sorry.  Out of my office, right now, all of you.”

The group leaves the office, Rachel fuming as she makes her way to her desk, Raylan grabbing a jacket and then disappearing, leaving a still livid Melissa facing Tim.  His long fingered hands wrap around her shoulders, guiding her to her desk, and a nearby chair, and then forcing her into it, “Sit here.  I need to make a phone call.  Melissa, if you are not right here when I come back, I will track you down and strangle you.”

“You can’t just order me around!” riled up, running on little sleep, irritable from her shaken nerves, Melissa’s legendary patience and sweet-nature have worn thin, and she snarls at him again.

“Just did.  Stay right there.” Tim fights to keep the smirk clear of his features; he has never seen Melissa this mad.  If he was less worried about her, he would be kissing the attitude right off her lips. 

One small foot bounces impatiently as Tim makes his phone call, murmuring a few words into the phone, and simultaneously hanging up and digging in his pocket.  Rachel takes whatever he has offered to her with a raised brow, and then a grin, before motioning them towards the doors, “If you think it’s safe, take her by yourself, I’m gonna be awhile.  Parole officer has lost a parolee, he’s starting to panic.”

“Can you find him??” Tim pauses mid-stride, looking over his shoulder at Rachel.

“I’ve got a few informants that know him.  Call if anything happens.” Simultaneously, Rachel waves him off and shakes her head, heaving a sigh as he makes his way back towards the social worker’s desk.

 


	31. Chapter 31

Tim’s fingers curled around Melissa’s shoulder, hauling her to her feet, and then his side, pressed against him, as he slid an arm around her shoulders.  To anyone in the office, they might be a couple going for lunch, but the indignant look in Melissa’s gaze would work against that idea, “You can’t just haul me around.”

“Looks like I’m doing just that,” he guides them into the elevator, heaving a sigh of relief when it is empty.

“I’m not a prisoner.” For a split second, Melissa’s fingers curled into her palm, to keep from reaching up and slapping the smirk off of Tim’s face.  But pressed against his side, she caught a whiff of him, the smell of oil and leather and gun powder that never leaves him and mixes with the cologne he put on this morning, and her body reacts, making her angrier.

“No, but your life has been threatened, it’s my job to protect you.  You don’t get to tell me how to do that.” Gently, but with strength, his hands guide her into the elevator, letting go of her only when the doors slide shut.

“You’re not on my official detail.” Feeling the strength in his hands, hearing his tone, that work tone, and Melissa fights him, her spine stiffening beneath his fingers.

He turned his gaze to her, narrowing it, and then moving from his spot, lounging almost casually against the elevator wall as they had traded barbs with each other.  One hand reaches out, slamming against the emergency stop button, which has the elevator car jerking to a stop.  Unable to keep her icy persona up as the emergency siren blared against her ears, she winces until with a quick motion; Tim somehow managed to stop the racket. 

And then Melissa found herself backed into the wall of the elevator, pinned against it first by Tim’s hands against her shoulders, and then his weight as he leans into her, “You’re right, I’m not.  Let’s be clear, if you end up with an official detail, I will be there every single moment of the day.  I will sleep with you, shower with you, run with you, I’ll sit outside the bathroom door and sing Disney songs, I’ll sing god damned show tunes, and I don’t care who hears me.  But you will be staying with me.”

“You are the most infuriating, chauvinist asshole in the world.  You’re worse than Raylan!!” her hands pushed with all their strength against his shoulders, trying desperately for some space.  Once again the smell of him hit her, sending lightning bolts through her, even while she yelled back at him.

“I’ll take it as a compliment Hummingbird”, one hands left her shoulder, toying with the butterfly charms on the necklace she was wearing.  He had put it on her this morning, after she had showered, taking time to press kisses into her skin where the charms rested, and the moment comes back to him.

“Well it’s not.  You’re both assholes.” As soon as he let go, she struggled for a moment, trying to slide down the wall and away from him, only to be pinned in place again by his other hand, and more of his form pressing against her.

“You’re stubborn.  You’re obstinate.” Gently his calloused fingers traced down her jaw and chin.

“Same could be said for you.” Despite herself, she shivered at his touch, but she continued to glare up at him.

“You have this hot little temper”, he smirks at her, running his fingers up the side of her face, his smirk widening to a smile when lifts her face to rub her cheek against his fingers.

“It’s not little.  And stop that.” Catching herself relaxing against him, rubbing against his fingers as they trace over her face, she gets aggravated for a second, fire dancing in her eyes.

“Makes me want you more.” Slowly, as if he is afraid she’ll snap at him again, he leans down to bury his face in her hair, heaving a sigh as he breathes her in.

“Shut up Tim.  I’m mad at you.” For a moment, her small fingers push against his shoulders, before curling into the fabric of his shirt and tugging her to him.

“Nah, you’re mad at the situation, not at me.  You’re just taking it out on me because I’m here.” The second she had melted against him, her body leaning into his, cushioning his frame with the soft curves he was starting to adore, Tim knew he was right, and he grinned, leaning into her further.

“I am mad at the situation.  But I am also mad at you.  You’re an asshole.” She managed to breathe the words out; getting the same light-headed feeling she always did around Tim.  The closer he got, the more her blood burned, the more it pooled between her legs, throbbing, and the more light-headed she got. 

“Gotta be something in this life.  Might as well be an asshole”, he leaned forward, murmuring the words against her mouth, not kissing her, but close enough to feel her lips against his.

Despite her will, despite her irritation and her frustration, her arms lift to curl around his chest, leaning further until him, pressing against him from the wall, and he responds, letting go of her shoulders with his hands and sliding them down her small frame to curl around her hips.  One hard jerk and she is pressed tightly against him, the bulge in his jeans rubbing and pressing against her, while their mouths meet, and then fuse. 

For several seconds, Melissa’s world stops, spins rapidly, and then melts away, until nothing matters but Tim and what his mouth is doing to her.  She gets greedy for more, her fingers clenching into his shirt, digging into the muscle of his back underneath his clothes, bringing a moan from him.  And then his phone starts to ring, a funeral dirge playing as it vibrates furiously from his pocket.  Tim lifts his lips from hers, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his head bowed as he answers it, “Yeah Art, everything is fine.”

“Press the god damned button Tim.  I said take her to lunch and buy her flowers, not fool around in the elevator.” Even over the phone, Art’s aggravation, irritation, and frustration are easily heard, as soon as the alarm from the elevator sounded, he had known where the former sniper and the marshal’s new social worker were, and had an idea what was going on.

“We were having a discussion about her protection detail.” Tim’s mischievous face is a sharp contrast to his serious words to Art.

“Well then… hope you made her see reason.” The chief deputy marshal pauses, not expecting that answer from his youngest marshal, and not sure if Tim is being entirely truthful or not with him. 

“She gets it.” While talking to his boss, Tim pins Melissa with an intense, meaningful look.

“Then start the elevator up.  This isn’t the Art and Raylan show.” Art huffs at Tim, clearly annoyed at having to tell one of his own to start the elevator back up.

“Yeah.  We’ll be back after lunch.” Grinning, Tim hangs up the phone, tucking it back into the holster on his belt.

“Keep me in the loop.”  Art hangs up with a click, heaving a sigh and leaning back in his chair, eyes closed as he tries to regain his patience, before he reaches for the phone again, dials a number and cradles the phone to his shoulder while looking over files on his desk, waiting for it to be answered, “Yeah, it’s Art.  How’re you?  No no, everything is fine.  But could you find Leslie for a minute, I need her advice.”

Tim lifts his head from Melissa’s shoulder, dropping a sweetly chase kiss on her nose, before looking her in the eyes.  What she sees there causes her heart to constrict, there is the usual want and longing, but there is fear there as well, the fear of losing something, and she realizes with a jolt why he had been acting the way he did.

“So… lunch…” He drags the words out, knowing that the immediate fight of earlier is gone, but unsure of what to do now, with the fight gone from Melissa.

“Chinese?” She drags the words out, leaving him plenty of time to respond, unwilling to suggest anything after her patience had failed her.

“Nah, had that yesterday with Nelson”, one arm slides around her waist, drawing her to his frame until they are pressed, sliding around until his palm rests on the small of her back.

“There’s that sandwich shop a few blocks down.” As soon as Tim moves, Melissa reacts, leaning against his frame, heaving a sigh as she does.

“Good pick.  We can check and see if your Dad’s watch is done yet.” His long fingered hand slides down to her small wrist, curling around it, and the watch around it, gently.

“Can I….” she pauses, chewing on the inside of her lip for a moment, while Tim studies her with his focused gaze, “Can I just wear yours until after court?”

He was gone the second she asked, his emotions melting into goo at her question.  For a moment he says nothing, but he moves, keeping one hand on her back and keeping her pinned to him while he walks backwards to the elevator controls, and starts it moving again.  But both of his arms fold around her, bringing her further to him, while he rests his cheek on top of her head, “If you want to.”

“I kind of like it.  It’s aggravating at times, but weirdly, it fits,” she grins against his shoulder, the last of her frustration and temper melting away. 

“That sounds a lot like me.” Tim smiles at her description of his watch, one hand combing through her hair and pushing it back off of her shoulders.

“Cause it is Marshal.  I’m sorry for earlier.” Her bright gaze shows remorse, her features crestfallen at her actions earlier.

“Me too.” The sight of her, looking so forlorn, tugs further at his heart, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

They stand like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms, his cheek pressed to the top of her hair, eyes closed and breathing in the scent of her, when the doors open on the next stop, to let more passengers in.  Although Tim’s eyes open, assessing each passenger that got in the elevator, he makes no effort to move, leaning back against the wall, Melissa still tucked against his chest, her cheek pressed to his heart.  From her spot, she watched the passengers getting on, smiling at the overt display of affection between the two of them.

Rachel was more than relieved to see Tim and Melissa back to their normal, sickening sweet selves after lunch.  Apparently Tim had bought enough chicken to feed the entire U.S. Army, and they carried in left-overs, sharing with everyone in the office.  Once Melissa was done passing out those honey biscuits that were to die for, she turned to her desk, and stopped in her tracks.

While Tim and Melissa had been at lunch, a delivery boy came in, asked for Melissa St. Germain, and had taken the money Tim had slipped Rachel from the grinning female marshal.  She directed him to Melissa’s desk, waited until he was gone, and then re-arranged the flowers in the vase, muttering about doing a better job with her eyes closed.  When Tim had told Rachel of his plans, she had expected a huge bouquet of roses, or something easy for Tim to pick from, but as Rachel watched Melissa’s eyes sparkle, and a smile curl her lips, she knew he had picked the perfect flowers.  Brilliant pink star-gazer lilies, mixed with just a couple dark pink snapdragons, sat in a crystalline clear vase on Melissa’s desk, with a small card tucked into the arrangement. 

Melissa’s gaze darted to Tim, after she read the small card, shaking her head at the arrangement, before she blinked in memory, and caught Tim by his sleeve, “Tim, did you order these before we left for lunch??”

The marshal nodded at her, then gestured towards Art’s office, “He told me to.”

“And then entire time I was yelling at you in the elevator, these were on the way?” Her fingers stay where they are, holding onto the sleeve of his shirt, oblivious to who might see them.

Again Tim nodded, his usual smirk returning to his face, as Art leaned out of the office, “Nice flowers Melissa.  Tim, you did a good job.”

“Tim, you’re an asshole.” She has called him that name repeatedly today, earlier in anger and frustration, but this time there is a softness there.

“Gotta be something in this life Hummingbird”, he smiles down at her, before nodding to Art, who is pointing to the clock while answering his phone, “Court is due to start, do you need to be there?”

“I got an email from the attorney while we were at lunch, he said no, although he might recall any of us after the defense is done.  I’m really curious to see what the defense to all this is.” letting go of his sleeve, Melissa moves to her desk, digging through the stack of files on her desk.

“If you don’t have to be there, then we’re not going upstairs.” Despite her earlier irritation with his attitude, Tim does not budge from his words, willing to take another argument with Melissa to keep her safe.

“I have a desk full of paperwork to go through. And some boxes to unpack.” The last stack of boxes behind her desk sat there, testament to her words.

“You know where to find me”, heaving a sigh of relief at her words, Tim ambled away to his desk, stopping to fill the chief deputy in, and spent a couple hours doing the paperwork he hated doing.  But his gaze was never far from Melissa, he watched as she sorted through the last of the boxes she had brought in, tucking files into drawers, hanging up a couple more hand-draw pictures, and a few framed ones. 

 


	32. Chapter 32

The phone on her desk rang at the same time her cell phone chirped with a text, and Tim was on his feet making his way to her desk as Melissa answered the phone, “She’s back with a verdict already?  That was fast.  Yes, thank you, I’ll be right up.”

Rachel was already on her feet at her desk, tugging her holster on, at a look from Tim, and together they flank Melissa out of the bull pen, through the marshal’s office, and onto the elevator.  Unlike her earlier ride, there is no sweet embrace from Tim, but he does keep one hand on the small of her back, the other reaching across his chest to curl around her elbow.  When the doors open, and the hallway to Family Court looming ahead, Melissa almost cannot bring herself to step out of the elevator, but a gentle nudge from Tim has her doing just that.

Within minutes, they are seated in the courtroom, and then standing as Judge Ferguson, flanked by Nelson and one of the marshal’s on loan from Cleveland, emerges from her chambers.  Extra bailiffs have been brought in, and now flank the tables in front of the judge’s desk as well.  The judge eases into her chair, pulling her glasses on, and reading over her notes, before tugging them back off again, and folding her hands together atop her desk, surveying the audience assembled.  Her gray streaked dark hair is cut in a fashionable bob, the edges of a well-tailored shirt are visible beneath her robes, but beneath that, Judith Ferguson was a Harlan girl, who had fought against the same life the Duncan girls faced, to do better for herself. 

“I have never taken a motion to sever parental rights lightly.  It is always my hope that every family can be mended, that we can fix the problems and put children back in their homes”, she begins to speak, choosing her words carefully, but fixing the defense table with a hard stare, “But it has been several years, close to a decade, where I saw a family I had no hope for.  Craig Duncan, you abused and neglected your children, as did your wife.  Neither of you have done anything asked of you by this court, to get your children back.”

“I suspect the main problem with all that was asked of you, was the drug counseling and testing.  I cannot force either of you to get clean, seek counseling, or attend the classes this court asked of you.  And BrandyLynn, I cannot force you to leave your husband for the sake of your girls.  We are free to make our own decisions, no matter how poor those decisions are,” Judge Ferguson’s dark brown gaze drifts to the back row, where Melissa sits, flanked by Tim and Rachel, pale, but composed, her fingers gripping the former sniper’s so tightly her white knuckles are visible from where the judge sits.

“But we are not free to live our lives in a way that threatens the well-being of children.  Children are defenseless, and cannot walk away from a bad marriage or addict parents.  It is a terrible twist of irony that those who need the protection of the law and court themselves, are the ones who generally cannot protect themselves”, the judge pauses, heaving a deep sigh, and looking at Craig Duncan, who sits in his chair, his attorney pressing down on his shoulder to keep him in place, while his wife, shaking from drug withdrawal, sniffles back tears.

“I am bound by law and oaths I took to protect any child who is brought to my court.  I take those laws and those oaths seriously, and I make this decision because I have no hope in this family, I have no faith in the parents to do the best by their children, and I will not let them languish in the system, a system already overburdened and strained, when a family wants them.  Therefore, I find for the state in this matter, parental rights are hereby severed; the girls are free to be placed and adopted with any family that meets the states requirements.  Formalized adoption can be done through this court after a waiting period of 60 days.” As the gavel comes down, the court room explodes in a mass of yelling and screaming.  Craig Duncan jumps to his feet, screaming curse words, insults, and threats towards Judge Ferguson, the court system in general, his lawyer, anyone involved in the case. 

As the bailiffs spring into motion, moving to restrain him, he moves, running down the aisle, straight towards Melissa, who pales, but does not move from her spot.  She refuses to give in to his yelling and screaming tirade as he marches down the aisle.  But both marshals react, Rachel rising to her feet and curling her fingers around Melissa’s arm, using a surprising amount of strength to get the dark-haired social worker out of her chair and down the aisle.  Tim plants himself squarely in between a screaming Craig Duncan and the retreating Melissa, one hand on his gun. 

“So what, you’re gonna shoot me to protect that stuck up bitch??” with his free hand, the one the bailiffs haven’t caught yet, the screaming man gestures to Melissa as she disappears out of the court room, pulled along by a capable Rachel.

“No, I’m going to shoot you to protect the social worker who is protecting your children,” Tim’s hand has not moved, but his fingers flex, popping free the button on the holster strap.

“She’s not protecting anyone from shit.  I’m gonna be there the day she gets hers, and I’m going to enjoy every single minute!”, the last part is screamed towards a retreating Melissa, who is tugged through a set of side doors by Melissa.

“I don’t care who sees it, I don’t care if your junkie wife over there sees it, I will shoot you right now,” Tim speaks the words coolly and calmly, just as another bailiff converges on Craig Duncan, grabbing the man, handcuffing him, and dragging him through a set of closed doors to a holding cell, all the while reading him his rights.

As soon as Duncan disappears, Tim’s hand drops from his holstered gun. His gaze flicks to Judge Ferguson’s bench, and finding it empty, the courtroom calming down quickly, he turns and makes for the same door he knew Rachel would have taken Melissa out of.  Moving through it, he heads for the elevators, knowing Rachel will have Melissa back in the marshal’s office by now.  A few minutes, and the former sniper is standing in Art’s office, watching Melissa, who has a couple fingers worth of bourbon in a glass cupped in her hands, while Rachel pats her on the back.

“Well, the good news is, we got the verdict you wanted, the girls are better off, and it’s over”, Art sighs, leaning against the front of his desk, still holding the bottle of bourbon.

“And you won’t have to worry about him again”, Rachel volunteers, moving from her seat as Tim comes in, gesturing to it with one hand. 

He eases into the seat, one hand sliding beneath the bottom of the glass Melissa holds, as it wobbles within her shaking hands, the other sliding over her shoulder, “He’s in lock-up.  They’ve gonna charge him with harassment and threatening a court officer, shouldn’t be a problem for awhile.”

Melissa nods, taking a deep breath, holding it for several seconds, and then letting it go on a sigh, “You’re right.  It’s over.  I have never had someone that angry at me.”

“He’ll calm down.  Getting the drugs out of his system in jail should help”, Art looks up as Raylan leans in the office, his gaze locked on Melissa.

“Just got back, heard about the uproar upstairs. She ok??” Raylan leans in the office, looking Melissa over, eyebrows raising at the golden bourbon in the glass within her grasp. 

“I’m fine Raylan”, Melissa takes a sip of the bourbon, wincing and suppressing a cough.

“It was Boyd by the way, that passed on the info about you seeing a marshal.  Told one of those idiots up there in that holler with him to make sure Craig knew.  But apparently he didn’t specify which marshal he had seen you with”, Raylan eases onto the couch in Art’s office, stretching his legs out before him. 

“I thought as much.  Boyd was there at that bookstore on Sunday.” Art rubs his hand over his bald head, heaving a disgusted sigh at the situation, and Boyd Crowder’s involvement, “Melissa, I’m giving you the rest of the day off.  Go home, get some food in you, and rest.  We’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’m fine.  Really, I’m fine.” Melissa shakes her head stubbornly, unwilling to play the part of fainting, helpless woman in an office dominated by hyper-masculine men.

“No really, you’re not”, mimicking her phrase, Art shakes his head no at her, “The stress you’ve been under has exploded all over Judge Ferguson’s courtroom, from what I understand.  You need a few hours away from all that.  It’s late in the afternoon anyways, you’re not missing much.  It will all be here in the morning.”

Melissa cannot argue Art’s point, her hands are still shaking, her nerves still rattled, and she looks forward to getting away from the office, and work, for a few hours, now that the crisis has passed.  Sighing, she pushes herself off of her seat, setting her nearly untouched bourbon down on Art’s desk with a murmured thank you. 

The chief deputy’s phone is already ringing, and he picks it up, speaking a few words before cupping the phone and looking at Tim, “Lexington PD would like your presence, they’re serving a warrant on some lowlife, and he’s rumored to have some fire power.”

“Now???” Tim lets the question hang in the office, halfway out of the door, clearly following Melissa, and clearly aggravated at the intrustion.

“Yes now.  Let someone else take her home” Art pushes mute on the phone, setting it the handset down on his table, “Son, you need to listen to me for a minute.  She needs some time to clear her head.  You went from flirting to a date, to self-appointed protector, in a matter of days.  A first date has lasted nearly a week now.  You both need some time to clear your head, and you and I both know that happens when you look through the scope on your rifle.”

“I’ll take her home”, Rachel rises from her seat, patting Tim on the shoulder, agreeing with Art, a sympathetic smile on her gentle features. 

“Fine.  But once I’m off the clock I’m not taking any more advice”, glowering at anyone who crosses his path, Tim grabs his rifle case, disappearing from the office, as Rachel slips into the locker room to let Melissa know the change in plans.

“I do believe you were right Art,” Raylan smirks at Art from his spot on the couch, long legs stretched out comfortably in front of him.

“About?” Art sighs, sitting back down at his desk, and rubbing one hand over his bald head once more.

“Her. Him”, Raylan looks philosophically back towards a retreating Tim, and then to Melissa, who is gathering up her things, and looking plaintively at Tim’s desk.

“Of course I’m right.  What brought you to this newfound awareness?” Art leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his bald head.

“I have never seen Tim come so close to telling you no.  I tell you no all the time, but Tim never does, he just can’t.  But he nearly did”, Raylan grins at Art, ignoring the jibe at his romantic skills.

“I saw that too.  He’s rebelling for a girl.  Just like having a damn teenager in here.  Two actually, counting you.” Art glares at Raylan, although it lacks the full force of his temper that shows when the marshal from Harlan has really crossed a line.

 


	33. Chapter 33

Rachel had driven her to Tim’s, where Melissa had climbed into her Tahoe, the bag she had packed after leaving the Mullen’s party sitting in the back seat.  From Tim’s house, it was just a short drive across the neighborhood, around a sprawling park with a winding jogging trial, to her own carefully tended home. 

Once there, Melissa had ignored Art’s command to rest, her nerves too frayed leaving her unable to relax, and had thrown herself into cleaning her home.  Her house spotless, Melissa had walked straight into her office, dragging paint and charcoal out, and sat on a giant pillow with a large canvas in front of her.  From her bag she tugged her sketchbook, so carefully guarded these past few days, and tore several sketches out, spreading them around the canvas, and studying them for several minutes.  Finally, she moved, picking up a charcoal and tracing it over the canvas, leaning back occasionally to look at the canvas, and look over her sketches.

Despite her focus, her will power failed her, and every few minutes, her bright cerulean gaze darted to her phone, willing it to ring, chirp with a text, an email, anything from Tim.  The longer she went without hearing from him, the more fidgety she got, and she channeled that into work on the canvas for as long as she could.  When the sun dropped behind the trees, the light disappeared from her window, and she heaved a sigh, leaning back on charcoal stained hands to study the canvas, satisfied with it.  Once more she looked at her phone, and seeing it dark, she heaved a sigh, and stood up, stretching before tucking all her supplies back into place, and then leaving the office. 

As she pulls a shirt on over leggings, she walks back down the hallway, to her office, and peeks in, studying the canvas one more time.  Tim is stretched out in bed on the white canvas, on his stomach, a book spread out before him, looking up from the pages towards her; she had captured the bump in his nose, the lift of his eyebrows, the curve of muscle that made up his shoulders.  Sighing once more, flicks the lights off, and walks out of her house, stretching in the front yard, easing the kinks from her back, before tying her running shoes on, heading for the park in the last of the evening light.  She tugged her long hair into a ponytail as she ran, finding a rhythm that neither pushed her to her limits, or was too slow, and let her thoughts wander. 

The too soon feel of everything, that she had leapt off a cliff, blindfolded, came rushing at her again.  It was easy, with him around; to push those thoughts away, to simply be in the moment and be with him, but alone, those doubts quickly rose to the surface.  She had never rushed into a relationship, been so open about it; she had always played carefully, insisting on a certain number of dates before anything serious happened, a certain amount of time before he could stay the night, a certain way things had to play out.  It was safe, it worked. It had worked, until a trauma surgeon in Austin blew her carefully planned out dating rules to hell and back.  She had followed the rules, had done everything she was supposed to, as a good girl, and it had ended with her on a witness stand, detailing what had happened between her and a married doctor, with her heart shattered.  The whole ugly affair had sent her running to Kentucky, picking the first place with an opening for her job. 

It had also put her on a collision course with Tim, their jobs putting them in each other’s orbits, and after so long waiting, watching him, being watched, her self-control, her adherence to the rules, had snapped.  She had been telling herself that she stayed because of the threat from Craig Duncan, but in all reality, walking away from him Sunday evening would have taken all of her will power.  Tim seemed to have a way with getting past her defenses, maybe because he had so many of his own.

Without realizing it, her feet had carried her through the park, running along the brightly lit jogging trail, and to Tim’s side of their neighborhood. Winded, she pauses in the trail, bending over to stretch her back out while she breathes deeply a few times.  The sound of heavy footfalls coming up the path breaks her out of her thoughts, and she looks up, to see a familiar form, wearing a faded gray shirt with ARMY on the front in reflective paint, jogging up the path to her.

 

Before Tim could take Melissa home, see that she was safely tucked back into her home, he had been called away by work, and reluctantly let Rachel do it.  As soon as he stepped in the door of his house, he had started pouring bourbon in a glass before his gun and badge were off. 

Melissa was all over his house.  She had packed up her things this morning, her pastels and sketchpad were no longer in the window seat, and her clothes weren’t hanging over the back of the chair in his bedroom.  But he could smell her perfume in the air, the extra pillow on the bed was crumpled from her sleeping on top of it, the food they had bought was sitting in his pantry.  The blankets he had drug out onto the lawn to watch the stars with her sat folded on the dryer, and her painting, his family there on canvas as they put things to rights, was leaning against a wall, ready to be hung. 

He had two choices, drown his sorrows in bourbon, get so drunk he would pass out, and face tomorrow hung over, or find something else to do.  The idea of walking into the office, so hung over he was still partly drunk, while something he had done before, was not something he wanted to do tomorrow.  He was out of his work clothes, into shorts and t-shirt and running shoes, letting his mind wander while he ran, before he had much time to think about it.

Melissa was breaking all of his rules, breaking all of his defenses.  He was so sure, now in the cool of evening as he ran, that she would take one look at him, the real him, turn tail and run, that his feet faltered and he nearly tripped.  With each passing minute, she was getting further under his skin, she had slipped past his defenses, and there were moments when she saw into the darkest parts of him, where he kept the deepest, most painful secrets. No woman had ever seen the shattered pieces of him, and stayed; if she had stayed, she had tried to fix him, tried to patch him up and put him back together. Melissa had simply offered a shoulder to lean on, given him room to breathe when he needed it, and quietly worked her magic on him.

Somehow, she had slipped into his life, settled there, and gotten under his skin.  It was too soon, they were rushing into this… thing, heedless of what might happen, and suddenly the sensation like drowning was on him again, and he paused, his legs slowing down.  When she was with him, he had such confidence in himself, in her; there was no room for doubt, no room for anything else but simply her.  But when she was gone, every doubt he had came back at him, gnawing at his hopes and dreams.

The figure, bent in half, stretching towards the ground, was familiar to him, even in the soft light of twilight.  A long, dark ponytail dangled towards the jogging path, a glimmer of silver caught the light from a thin wrist, where a watch sat, his watch.  And he knew those pink running shoes, he had seen them several times over the course of the past almost week. 

“Melissa??” her name came out just as she tipped her head up, her blue eyes piercing into his, arrowing through the portions of him still aching over his childhood, still beaten to a pulp by the war. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t relax.  I’m too jumpy, left over nerves from today I guess”, she lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug.

“Same here.  Decided drinking myself to sleep wasn’t the best idea.” His chest heaved as he came to a stop in front of her, his shirt sweaty in places, he had kept up a punishing pace.

“And neither is Amazon right now.” She grins, remembering when he had confessed his late-night shopping habits to her.

“You realize you’re on the path that heads to my house right?” with one hand he waved back towards his house, down the path behind him.

“Yeah.  And you realize that you were heading towards mine?” grinning, she straightened fully and waved a hand back towards her own home.

“I do now.” Tim couldn’t fight the flush that heats his cheeks when he realizes she was right, this jogging path ran through the side of the park closest to her house. 

Melissa stands still, her cheeks flushed from her run, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs, unsure of what to do now.  What she wanted to do was fling her arms around his neck, bury her face in his shoulder, and let him tell her everything would be fine; to let him soothe her unraveled nerves.  She held still, staring at him with wide, brilliant blue eyes.

“You know we’re rushing into things”, despite his words, he was walking towards her with a purposeful stride, taking the last few steps towards her.

“We are.  This is crazy.” She nods at him, her ponytail sliding back over her slim shoulders and dangling down her back as she moves.

“It is.” He matches her nod, one hand, and then the other reaching out for her, curling around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

“I couldn’t….” she pauses on the rest of the words, which are somehow stuck in her throat as she leans against him, wrapping her arms around his chest, headless of his sweaty t-shirt.

“stay away.”  He finishes, heaving a sigh, “I tried Melissa.  I want to do this right.  I tried to do this how I’m supposed to.  I just can’t stay away.”

“Me neither.”

“Then stay.  Stay with me Melissa”, he sighs, resting his chin on her head.  Being this open, his feelings exposed, was a new sensation for him, and it was unsettling, almost painful.  The only cure for it was the same as the cause, more of her. 

 


End file.
